


Swearing Off Boys

by 3rdstarksistr



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Past Sexual Abuse, Slow Burn, sansan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:39:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 149,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3462977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3rdstarksistr/pseuds/3rdstarksistr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In modern-day Westeros, Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane are pulled together when their dogs, Lady and Stranger, find each other and become inseparable.   An unlikely friendship forms as the two grapple with changes in their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

“Really Lady, where are you?” Sansa huffs, still jogging. Her run is now much longer than she had planned because Lady ran off with her leash. Sansa hasn’t even got her bearings yet since moving here for college last week, and now she’s lost her dog. _Great._ Covered in sweat, she finally hears Lady’s bark nearby and crashes through some willow trees to see her playing with some black beast of a dog bigger than her. Lady is not a small husky either.

She stands bending with her hands on her knees trying to catch her breath and call out to Lady to no avail. _Well I don’t think she’s going anywhere else._ She notices a man sitting further over in the grass in this hidden part of the park. Must be the other dog’s owner.

He doesn’t even turn to look at her as Sansa walks over to say hello. What a large man, she notices, with long black hair, a dark shirt and jeans. She can’t help but smile to herself thinking he’s one of those people who look like their pet.

“Hi sir, that’s my dog Lady. Is the other one yours?” He just nods and says nothing, leaving her awkwardly standing there. No friendly “Welcome to Maidenpool” to be heard.

“Do you mind if she plays with him…or her? I’m sure she misses her brothers and sister. My parents raise…” He interrupts in a deep, gravelly voice, “I don’t care if she does. It’s a him.”

“Do you mind if I sit here, sir, to watch them?”

“I don’t own the grass and keep your sirs,” he barks at her, still not looking her direction.

Sansa sits down with a sigh, copying him with his knees bent. What a harsh man. At least she can rest a bit before trekking back with Lady. The dogs move to sit down over by a small pond. It’s a lovely little spot.

After a few minutes, he speaks, “Name’s Stranger. Doesn’t usually like other dogs.” She isn’t expecting him to actually speak after being so rude and is rather dumbfounded.

“Oh, he’s a very large…dog.” _Did I really just say something so inane?!_ “How can you call him such a blasphemous name?” she says in a small voice, uncomfortable. She can see from the side of his face that he smirks, amused. Trying to compose herself, she tries again, “what breed is he?”

“Just a mutt like me,” he responds in a strangely proud way. The man laughs abrasively as Stranger starts licking the side of Lady’s face. “They’re a pair.” Her lips curl into a smile at the sight unbidden.

Considering his friendlier demeanor, she decides to introduce herself. She hasn’t made any friends yet. “Oh, I’m Sansa, by the way,” and she reaches her hand out to shake with a smile.

He then turns to face her and Sansa freezes. The other half of his face is covered in red, twisted scars that even go past his hairline. A horrific burn, she realizes. Lank black hair hangs over the scars in a poor attempt to cover them. He is missing an eyebrow, and his right ear appears gone. She becomes conscious of her extended hand trembling slightly as she swallows hard, but her eyes stay fixed on his face.

His eyes rove up and down her in a seemingly deliberate effort to make her squirm under his gaze. _Payback I guess._ Her heartbeat had returned to normal once finding Lady, but now it speeds up like she’s running again. All she has on is a sweat-drenched tank and her running shorts. Feeling a breeze, she fights the urge to cross her arms to make sure her nipples aren’t showing through her sports bra.

He smirks, which pulls his scars in an alarming manner, “Sandor Clegane. And don’t you know it’s not polite to stare?” Her smile gone, now her mouth is hanging open a bit, and then mumbling without a sound as she tries to right herself. _How long have I been staring?!_

He then saves her by giving her hand still hanging there a shake. She can’t help but marvel at how big his hand is in hers, all rough and callused. Her eyes lower and then move back to where Lady and Stranger are now wrestling each other.

Regrouping in her mind, Sansa takes a deep breath, focusing on Lady. Though a part of her is disgusted and scared by his appearance, Lady seems perfectly at ease in his presence –she led her here actually—otherwise she would’ve made herself known. That part of herself had also swooned just at the sight of Joffrey and his handsome looks, and the reality couldn’t have been farther from his initial charm.

Maybe this would be a good exercise for her on “not judging by looks” as Arya, her sister, pointed out along with every other “I told you so” about Joffrey. She’s sworn off boys for a year anyways, only to have as friends. After everything, she’s learned to trust Lady’s intuition over her own even. Evidently hers sucks. So she’s moved here, left King’s Landing and her family and Joffrey, to try a new leaf.

Still watching the dogs, she finally replies, “I apologize for staring, I wasn’t expecting your scars, and they are very shocking, must have been a very painful burn. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Clegane, and Stranger. Lady seems quite taken with him. I’m so glad she’s made a friend here.” She tries to give him a carefree smile but it feels forced, and she can sense his anger, which made her instinctually shy away.

Gratingly he spits out, “Just chirping away aren’t you, and I’m not ancient enough for you to call me that. Call me Hound if you can’t stomach my name.”

She looks down at the grass now, pinching off pieces of it, more confused than ever about this Sandor, but not ready to drag Lady back to her little one-bedroom apartment. Every time she tries to be nice, he takes offense.

“Honest enough to not ignore them or run away screaming.” He seems resigned to say to her. Pity wells up in her now, just thinking of how awful such reactions would be, no wonder he’s here in this little hideaway. The scars are shocking, but he’s still a person. Would she have thought that two years ago? Probably not, she would have ignored them and left, hoping to never see him again.

“Don’t worry, I’ll call you Sandor from now on,” she says in a soft tone. He looks at her oddly then, but she doesn’t have time to think about it because Lady and Stranger come over to them.

Lady nuzzles her and keeps pointing over to Stranger as if to introduce them. Sansa laughs, giving Lady a light scolding for running off, and scratches her behind the ears. She’s never seen her so giddy about any other dog before. Lady pushes her over on her back and Sansa fluffs her fur all over, especially her belly, her favorite. It’s nice to feel so carefree after all the hassle of moving. She still hardly has any furniture.

“Lady, where’s your leash. How will I get you home now?”

“I took it off her. Here.” As he tosses the leash over, she looks up to see Sandor standing. _Mother, Maiden, and Crone, he’s tall._ She couldn’t really tell sitting down, other than that he was a large man. Truly near a giant, she’d never felt so tiny as lying in the grass, staring up at him in the shadow of the sun.

Sandor seems to relax around Stranger, petting him and pulling a treat out, but making Stranger sit first. So disciplined, she thinks. At least Lady is partially trained, though you wouldn’t know it today. She’s surprised Lady goes over and licks his hand.

“Begging for another, huh?” Sandor says gruffly but gives Lady one anyway. 

As Sansa’s managing to get up, she’s surprised to see a hand held out for her. W _ho would have thought?_ She accepts it and once up and dusting off the grass, she graciously tells him, “You are too kind, Sandor.” To which, he just mumbles curses to himself and turns away.

“Umm, I just moved here to Maidenpool last week, and I hate to take advantage since we just met, but I could use some help getting furniture into my apartment tomorrow.” Silence.

“Also, I’d love for Lady and Stranger to have a play date. It’s good for her to socialize, and she seems to really like your dog.”

“Probably couldn’t keep ‘em apart if we tried,” is his response. It’s not really an answer, but she glances over to see him cocking his jaw to the side as if pondering. Sansa’s not used to having to put herself out there to make a friend, but she really would like Lady to at least be able to have a playmate in town. Especially one she seems so fond of.

He finally responds in his deep timber, “Not sure why you’d care to do anything with me, but I’ll help you tomorrow and bring Stranger. But no shopping.”

“Oh, I have the furniture reserved at a couple antique shops and there’s one piece off Craigslist. I just need to pick them up and get the pieces set in my apartment.”

“You got a truck”

“Well, my car…”

“I’ll pick you up in my truck.”

“Thank you! Here, let me give you my number and address. I don’t have my phone on me, but…”

“You just met me and you’re giving out that information and running around without a phone or ID. Are you crazy, girl? Just trusting some strange man, one twice your size or more? Seven hells, fuck me.” He is shaking his head and giving her an incredulous look, “You need to make sure you always have your phone, ID, and some mace with you running around here. Even in the middle of the day.” He glares down at her.

She is a little speechless at the sudden lecture. He cares about her safety?

“Wow, thanks for the lesson, um, it’s just Maidenpool, and I have Lady with me. She has better intuition than me and is great protection. I wouldn’t have moved here without her. Besides, she’d let me know if you meant me harm.” Lady leans against Sansa, as if to reassure her and enjoy the praise. “Though you’re probably right about the ID and phone.”

She can tell he might have gone on more with the lecture if she hadn’t said that last bit. “Right about that _Lady_ of yours,” he concedes and hands over his phone for her to enter her contact information.

Once she has Lady’s leash secured, she waves, “See ya tomorrow,” and bounds away to find her path home. Sansa is glad to have secured a potential new friend for each of them, even if Sandor is a little rough around the edges. Okay, more than a little rough, but he reminds her of someone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furniture Pickup Non-date: Sandor POV

 

Sandor can’t believe what he’s gotten himself into, or rather what Stranger has. Pulling his truck up to the curb where the little bird said she lived, he gives her a ring.  He’s thought of her as that, since she started chirping at him in the park, kind of suits her, pretty little thing that she is. So ladylike that she even named her dog Lady. 

Couldn’t believe it when the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen came crashing into his hidden spot in the park. He knew the magic would end when she saw his face, but somehow she steeled herself to see him as a friend. I guess she needed the help. 

“Oh, bring Stranger up here, so they won’t get in the way.” she says on the other end. 

“They could use some alone time.” He couldn’t help but jeer.

After depositing Stranger upstairs to a happy Lady, they jump into his truck.  Of course, she’s wearing a dress to pick up furniture, but she’s just so pretty and how did he not notice her hair.  It must have been all tucked away.  Loose red waves flow down to her waist, shining like copper in the sun. He realizes he’s probably staring and distracts himself with starting up the truck and driving as she directs him. 

She doesn’t truly look him in the face though, which unnerves him.  She’ll face him, but her eyes will lower or she’ll find something else to concentrate on, like his shirt or the dogs. 

“Need help with furniture, huh?  Don’t you have a boyfriend for that?” Only just curious of course, he thinks to himself, as he drives. 

“No.  I’ve actually sworn off boys for a year.  My family helped me move in but that was only my bedroom furniture.” 

“Good thing I’m a man.” 

She actually blushed, which made him smirk. She starts to say, “I mean…never mind, there’s the first shop.”   

And on it goes, him packing the pieces in the back of the pickup as Sansa attempts to hold up her side.  His breadth is enough to get both ends of most things. 

He wouldn’t have thought most college girls would get to pick out the nice furniture the little bird has and have her own place. Though she seems to have been frugal enough, even is she is rich.  She didn’t even have it delivered; I guess she was planning to flirt her way into convincing a strong man or two. 

She’s chirping something about Winterfell and King’s Landing, then about art when he realizes she may have asked him a question. 

“What?” If she can’t handle it, she can just quietly ride along. 

“I asked what do you do?” 

“What did you move to Maidenpool for?” He questions her back. Why does she have to know about him? 

“As you might have heard if you were listening, I’m starting art classes tomorrow, though my daddy insists I minor in business, too. What about you?” _Did she really say daddy?_ He already hates that snippy, self-righteous tone she seems to cultivate when she’s being  _ _polite_._   

“Good luck learning business at an all-girl’s school.”   _Might as well ruffle her feathers a little to knock her off her high horse._  

“Really, Sandor Clegane!  It may be a women’s college, but it’s actually a very good art school,” she chides him. 

“I know you’ve sworn off boys and there’s a story there, probably a long and silly one, but a bit extreme to not even go to school with them,” he smirks, seems like he’s been doing that a lot around her. 

All she does is sigh and look out the window resigned. “Must you tease me so.”  Heavens, her soft tone, when she’s not pretending to be anything is sweet. She’s the one teasing now and doesn’t even know it.  What is she doing riding around with the likes of him?  Like hell if he’s going to question it, he doesn’t seem capable of refusing her yet.  If she wants to swear off boys, she has a strange way of doing it. 

“That’s half the fun of it, girl, you can’t say you’ve sworn off boys and not expect to be teased about it.  Okay, here we are at this person’s house.” 

“You still haven’t told me what you do, and I won’t forget.  Even if you think me silly,” she complains. 

After securing the chest in the truck bed once he had to negotiate for the little bird, glaring at the asshole who felt the need to touch her arm or back every other second the whole time, they finally set off back to the apartment.  

“Fucking prick, would’ve robbed you blind over that chest and had his way with you if I wasn’t there,” he can help but grate out.  He can’t stand slimy bastards like that. 

“Must you use that word?”  _Must she be so uptight?_  

“Fuck or prick?  Fuck’s a great word, couldn’t have sex without it, and say ‘fuck everyone’ and your day’s what you make it.  That’s something you should learn to do while you’re still young.  And a prick’s a prick – that one was.” 

Flustered she doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, then states, “It’s a mid-century modern credenza, not a ‘chest.’  We actually got it cheaply since you have no appreciation for it.  I wouldn’t normally resort to Craigslist, but it adds an eclectic touch.” 

All he can do is snort and let it go. Silly little bird, indeed. 

Lady and Stranger are waging their tails and in the way as Sandor brings in all the various pieces of furniture and moves them around three times at least until she’s satisfied. 

“How were you going to do this on your own?” He can’t help but ask, imagining her trying to lift her precious _credenza_. 

“Well, my uncle said he would be of assistance next weekend since he splits his time between here and the Eyrie.  Thank you so much for the help, I feel like I can really settle in now.”  Hands clasped, she looks around the room, fluttering with delight.  How can such simple things make her so happy? 

“If you really want to thank me, try looking me in the eye for a change.  Otherwise, save it.” There he goes and ruins her moment. 

Though he can tell it takes her by surprise, she does turn her eyes up to look into his.  He can tell she’s on edge, but there’s a depth there in her blue eyes that feels like more than an apology.  Warmth too, like the ocean at the height of summer.  He suddenly feels exposed, not knowing what she sees in his eyes and feels anger fill him as it does when he’s not in control. 

“I’m sorry, you’re right, I just haven’t got quite used to your scars yet.”  She pauses, probably not sure if she should say anything else.  “Please let me cook you dinner, it’s the least I can do after all your help, Sandor.  I know I’ve probably barged in on your life enough.” 

“Alright, little bird, I’ll take these two for a walk while you’re doing that.”  He’s out the door with Lady and Stranger before he realizes what he called her. _For fuck’s sake, can’t keep my own mouth shut._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The characters belong to George R. R. Martin, I'm just borrowing them to live lives he'd never write for them :) I do not profit from this endeavor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa Cooks: Sansa POV

Did Sandor really just come up with a nickname for her? _Little bird_.  It’s cute at least. He didn’t even notice he used it is the hilarious thing.  Maybe she should plot to get back at him for poking fun about the “swearing off boys” thing.  _He just doesn’t understand what I’ve been through._  

Sansa hopes he doesn’t mind that there’s no meat on the menu.  Sandor seems like the kind of man who could eat nothing but meat and a potato here or there. She decides to give Arya a call while she’s getting everything together. 

“Yeah, San,” Arya picks up on the very last ring. 

“Hey Arya, I just want to call and see how things are going in Winterfell?” 

“Alright, Mom is up my ass about going to school, doesn’t she understand it’s my last year.” 

“I start class at my new school tomorrow.” Trying to avoid the polarizing topic of school attendance for them. 

“How’s Maidenpool?  I imagine anything’s better than King’s Landing, though I don’t see why you couldn’t come back here.” 

“I wanted to keep studying art, and I needed to transfer out of college there. My grades sucked anyways.  Maidenpool seems quaint; there are lots of parks and history. I can’t wait to explore more. Dad’s making me take business classes here, though.” 

“Don’t complain, Miss Perfect.  I’m sure you made B’s at least.  Plus can’t you just take Uncle Petyr’s classes. He would be chill about that kind of thing, right?” 

“As if, he’s head of the business department here. I’m sure he takes it seriously. But, that is not what I called you about.  You wouldn’t believe it, Lady made a friend yesterday.  She ran away from me, and I found her playing with this huge black dog and she just loves him.  It’s crazy. I think they’re going to be playmates.  The dog’s name is Stranger, and his owner said, we couldn’t separate them if we tried. Can you believe it?” 

“That’s cool, San.  Good luck with classes, I got to go, my raid is starting up.” 

“You still play that game online?  Alright, bye, love you.”  

Seeing the call clear on her screen, Sansa felt so lonely, at least Arya seemed to understand the Joffrey fallout better than most of her family, but Arya has her own little world.  They’re still not that close but at least they aren’t sworn enemies anymore.  And herself, she is in Maidenpool, hardly knowing a soul.  It didn’t seem so far away on the map. At least, Lady and her have Sandor and Stranger now.   _If only she could fall in love as easy as Lady and her hound._  

She hears the commotion from the stairs and goes to open the door to the little pack.  Sandor comes in and gets them off their leashes.  Sansa goes to pet Stranger, thinking, _I haven’t really met him yet_.  She’s shocked when he goes to bite at her and starts growling in a low snarl.   _What? I just reached my hand to his muzzle._ Lady immediately goes between him and her while Sandor tries to calmly discipline him. 

“He doesn’t much like others, Sansa, best to keep your distance till he decides to come to you.” 

“I guess I’m not trustworthy, huh?” She tries to look up in his eyes at this, and he looks back at her so guarded.  “Just a joke,” she shrugs.  It’s weird, he’s the one who wanted her to look him in the eye.  Earlier, there was a bitterness and hurt there that drew her in, wanting to comfort him, but soon his expression clouded over with anger, as if nursing a wound defensively. Suddenly, she is struck again by how similar man and beast are. So defensive and ready to draw swords. 

Moving to set up for dinner, she remembers to tell him, “Sandor, I’m a vegetarian, so I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t prepare any meat.”  

“No meat?  You don’t eat meat?” She shakes her head.  “I guess you wouldn’t, huh?  Saving animals and what not.”  He chuckles a bit at that.  “What are you going to pass off as food then?” 

“Don’t be rude and sit down, please.” He looks at her place setting without sitting down, gingerly picking up the cloth napkin.   _Poor thing was probably never taught manners._  

“This is too fine for me, Sansa.”  The big, hulking man, usually so confident, looks lost at the sight of a napkin ring.  She couldn’t help but smile at his discomfort a little. 

“Well, you called me a little bird, so this is my nest and here we do as I would, so please just sit, I’m sure you know how to use a fork.”  He looks even more sheepish if possible now; she likes being on this side of his game. “Anyways, cloth napkins can be washed and reused; it’s the greener choice.” 

She continues, pointing out the dishes, “So, here’s the fried tofu with sesame and rice, there’s the spinach salad with dried cranberries and sunflower seeds, and I made a chia seed pudding, too, for dessert. ”  She smiles up to meet his eyes, and then notices he has a wicked grin stretched across his face.  “What?!” 

“All these dishes have seeds in them, little bird. Is that all you eat?”  Then, he lets out a bark of laughter before hesitantly putting food on his plate. It is her turn to be embarrassed, how had she not noticed, why did he always win.  Since when did she put seeds in everything? Well, they are nutritious, and she could always use the extra protein. 

Trying the salad, he asks, “Do you have any bread, Sansa?” 

Getting up to grab the bread, “Oh, yes, I got some rolls at the market. They’ve got…” and then she freezes at what she is about to say. 

“Let me guess, more seeds?” 

“They’re poppy seed!  How did I not know this about myself!  Lemon poppy seed are my favorite muffins, too! Are you like psychic or something?” They're both having a good laugh now, and he seems to be getting a good kick out of this and gladly takes a roll. 

“Please don’t say I have ESPN.” 

“Sandor, I know it’s ESP, okay.” Still, she smiles at him, noticing for the first time the mirth in his dark grey eyes has a happy note to it. 

Pulling out bowls for the chia pudding, still berating herself for putting seeds in everything, Sansa decides on a stealthier approach to get to know the man who seems to divine secrets about herself she didn’t even know.  _Still not over this just uncovered seed obsession of mine._

“Now that the seed intervention is over, have some pudding. What are you up to tomorrow?”  

He smiles at her little joke.  “Trying to figure out what I do, huh?” Sandor looks intently over at her, in a way that says her cunning is fruitless. 

Exasperated she rambles, “Why should that be a secret unless you’re a secret agent?  And in that case, why would you be hanging out with a 19-year-old woman and her dog in a small little college town.” 

His one eyebrow rises.  “Small and little mean the same thing.” 

“I’m not that stupid. Thanks.”  She pouts.  _I can’t believe I resorted to pouting, especially after calling myself a woman._

“Guess then, I know you’re smart.” She looks back up at him then.  He seems less harsh somehow, even reassuring.  Stranger puts his head in Sandor’s lap – they don’t look made for her little yellow chair. Lady has curled up by her on the floor as usual.   

“Hmm.  You seem good with dogs, so maybe you work with them in some capacity.” 

“True.”   _Wow, that was easy._  

“Yay!  Hmm, you seem rather austere and disciplined at times, perhaps a military background.” 

“You’re good at this, little bird, very observant. Still, I better get going, early start tomorrow.”  And he gives her a little smirk, knowing she’s digesting that to figure out more details of his occupation.   

“Sandor, you’re going to leave without revealing any more of your mystery," she unabashedly whines. 

“I can always take off my shirt if you need more revealing,” and he goes to make good on his threat. 

Sansa immediately gasps, turning redder than her hair probably.  “I guess I walked into that, but it’s rude of you to tease me.” 

“Alright, I’ll cut it out, little bird. I’ve just never seen anyone blush so much, it’s sweet.”  Not sure how to take that, she likes having Sandor as her friend, but he does push her out of her comfort zone every now and then. 

“Alright, time to say goodbye to Stranger, Lady. I know you’ll miss him.” Lady just looks up at her and whimpers, then gets up to give Stranger some licks on his face. 

“They’re so cute,” she can’t help but gush. 

Sandor puts the leash on Stranger and starts leading him out, more like dragging him from Lady.   

“Sandor,” she calls out at the same time he turns to speak. 

He’s rubbing the backing of his neck and looking at the floor, while saying in a monotone, “Maybe we can get together with the dogs later this week.”  _Why is he being so shy all of a sudden?_  

“Yeah, I’m sure they’d love that.  See you later then!”  She watches as he waves his hand up and exits. She feels a little more at home now that she’s got living room furniture and a table to eat on and use for her art, and it was nice to have Sandor and Stranger here.  _I think I could get used to days like this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know ESPN may not exist in modern-day Westeros but I couldn't resist the Mean Girls reference. :)
> 
> Also, I don't own this, all to G.R.R.M.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV

“Can you be any more depressed?” Sandor scowls over at Stranger, who’s still looking glumly out the truck window as they roll up to the Quiet Isle.  It’s been four days since Stranger last saw _Lady,_ and he’s been moping around ever since.  Since when do dogs get lovesick? 

And every time he looks at Stranger, he can’t help but think of that fire-haired girl with the sweetest nature.  Gods, he just met her, she’s really just an acquaintance.  She just looked so hopeful when he left her place, like they were going to be best friends. He snorts at that thought. Staying in his house was making him feel caged, so he decided to take a drive to the small base.

Elder Brother looks surprised to see him walk through the door.  Sandor only spends a week here a month, keeping up his Reserves training and he usually meets with the brother then. 

“Good to see you, Sandor.  I was about to call you, and let you know we got a new puppy in for training.” 

Sandor gives him a nod, “Brother.  Good, I’ll take the pup back with me.”

“Anything you needed to see me about?” Elder Brother ventures. Sandor is not really sure why he’s here now, and if he even wants to broach the subject of Sansa. Though if he were going to talk to anyone, it would be this man. 

“Just felt like a drive.” 

“Oh.”  The old man is not going to make this any easier; he already knows something’s up. Sandor, if anything, sticks to his routine.

“I kinda made a friend, or Stranger did.” Elder Brother gave him the look, knowing his displeasure at his dog’s name.  The old man is really his only person he’d call a friend, and that’s a change from a year ago even.  Ever since getting wounded, the Elder Brother guided his rehabilitation both physically and mentally.  Even got him off the bottle.  But he’s been badgering him about reaching out to make a friend in Maidenpool ever since Sandor moved over there.

“She’s a student there at the college, got a dog, too, that’s where Stranger came in.”  He thought the brother would seem surprised at least if not disapprove that his new friend was a young girl, but it seems to have no effect on the man. It’s this lack of judgment that’s always made him comfortable with the old man.

“How lovely, does it make it easier or harder that she’s a girl?”

“I don’t know, just seems odd she’d want to be around me.”

“How’d she handle the scars?”

“She only saw the good side at first, but when I turned to face her, she did, and I could tell she was horrified. But after she looked away and took some deep breaths, she didn’t run, actually wanted my help the next day. The girl wouldn’t look at my face very long, still hasn’t really, but once I told her to look me in the eye, she’s started to.  Said she hasn’t gotten used to them yet.”

“Thanks for being so open about this, Sandor. I don’t see any problems, she sounds very open-minded and empathetic.”

Sandor couldn’t help snorting at that, the old man always had to make it sound so emotional.  “She’s sweet alright and pretty.  There’s another thing though, she’s said she’s sworn off boys for a year.  What do you think that means?” 

“Just an inference, but it sounds like she’s probably had a bad breakup and is trying to abstain from any romantic relationships.  It’s actually a good thing for her.  You may just need to respect her boundaries in that area.  She’s going to try and see you as a friend only.”

Starting to feel uncomfortable with where the old man is going, he gets a little defensive, “I doubt she’d ever consider more anyways.  I’m only doing this for you and Stranger though, just to be clear.”

“Oh right, of course.” The brother gives him a warm, knowing smile.  “I’m glad, feel free to let me know if you need anything, you have my number.  This young lady may even want to consider seeing a therapist herself.  We all need help at times, especially when we’re young.  I could refer her to someone in Maidenpool.” He hates when Elder Brother uses that therapist word.  Seven hells, if people knew the Hound had a _therapist_ , he wouldn’t be able to step into a bar again without having to break a nose or two from the ridicule.  _I guess it’s good he doesn’t really go to them anymore._  

“I’ll let you know if I need you to decode anything else about her.  Women are just fucking crazy.  Where’s that pup? I should get back and start training him up.  Give me the specifics on the way over to the kennels.”

“It’s a female this time. Also, they’re not crazy, women just think differently than us to some degree.  Follow me.”

 

* * *

  

Back in town, Sandor thought Stranger could use a walk to get him out of his funk.  Might as well take the pup to wear her out, so she won’t be a bother.

Getting close to his spot, he sees Stranger perk his ears up and start pulling on ahead.  _Oh great, the little bird must be here with Lady._ Since when does she think she can just come to his spot in the park?  He hears an echo in his mind of something he said, “I don’t own the grass,” and just scowls at himself.  Damn girl, just pushing her way into his life. Stranger already seems more alive than he has in days - Lady’s unmanned his guard dog.

Sitting over by the pond, Sansa glances at him as she notices them come through the trees.  Then she turns back toward the little pool she’s been staring into and goes to wipe her face.  _She’s been crying._ Like he hasn’t dealt with enough emotional bullshit for one day.  _Stranger save me._

“Sansa, you alright?” he asks distantly.

“Yeah, sorry, I know this is your little hideaway, but Lady just led me over here as I was walking along, aimless I guess.”

Now he just feels a little bad for begrudging her that. How does she know he was already a bit pissed at finding her here?  Probably the scowl on his face.  If he’s honest with himself, he knows he’s only glad to see her, which pisses himself off even more, pleased to see a girl he met only a few days ago. The Hound wouldn’t give two shits, but the Hound was also a miserable bastard.  

“I can see something’s wrong.  Here take the pup, and don’t lose her. I’ll be right back.”

She looks up at him with wide eyes, blinking a few times in confusion, but then she bursts into a smile, seeing the puppy he’s handing down to her.   _I guess she didn’t notice I was carrying the little thing._

“Oh my gods, a puppy!  Where’d you just get a puppy?  I totally needed a puppy today, how did you know?  I swear you have some crazy psychic powers, Sandor.  It’s a gift.  Oh my, she’s so adorable and sweet and look at that.”  The little pup is licking Sansa’s palm, and looking up at her with adoring eyes already.  “Wait, where are you going?” 

“I’ll be right back, just don’t lose the dogs.” _Hells, how can she go from being so sad-looking to instantly happy? I don’t care what Elder Brother says they’re crazy._

Sandor walks over to the little bakery cafe on his side of the park.  Sansa lives a few blocks over on the other side of the park, and he thinks she would probably say this place is cute and charming, no doubt.  He can admit that the bakery’s part of the reason he takes Stranger over to the park so much, nothing like a bear claw for breakfast or any time of the day.

Ordering his usual black coffee and some fancy coffee drink for Sansa, he remembers her comment about liking some kind of muffin. 

“Do you have any muffins with seeds in them?” 

“Um, we have lemon poppy seed muffins?” The barista answers him friendly.  She’s the redhead who usually takes his order, kinda looks like an older Sansa now that he thinks about it, but her hair looks dyed. 

“I’ll have one of those and a bear claw. Make that two bear claws.”  He might as well eat one on the way back to her, and Sansa won’t be the wiser.  _Not that I care what she thinks._

After scarfing down the first bear claw, he steps back into the little clearing, a bit astonished at what he sees.  Sansa has her head phones back in and is dancing around with the little pup in her arms, her hair flowing around her as she spins her skirt in a circle before falling down on the grass.  She’s such a vision, how can this lovely creature be here in his little clearing, like some kind of waking dream.  Maybe Elder Brother isn’t helping, and he’s actually going completely insane, imagining pretty young women who want to be his friend. 

Sansa pulls her headphones out, catching her breath, and smiles up at him, “Puppies are the best!”

Sandor goes to hand over her coffee and the bag with her muffin after pulling out his pastry.  “Here.  Guess I shouldn’t have bothered getting you this.  You seem to have forgot you were ever sad.”

“Oh, Thank you, Sandor.  You’re the best!”  After taking a sip, she rummages in the bag, finding her treat. “Lemon poppy seed, you remembered!”  She lets out a gleeful, little laugh and smiles up at him, and it’s music to his ears to brighten her day.  Never thought he’d be capable of that.  “This is the best day now.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself now, I’m sure your problems didn’t just disappear.”  Her smile disappears then.  Why can’t he just let her be happy?  Because the world won’t, it’ll shove all those problems back in her face tomorrow. “Good you’re not crying anymore. I knew some seeds would cheer you right up.”  Now he’s made a crude innuendo without even thinking, and he’ll be lucky if she doesn’t pick up on it.

“Oh ever since Sunday, I’m now extremely aware of my seed consumption.  I put them in everything, flax seeds in my oatmeal, I could go on.”  Apparently, she did not pick up on it and even giggles. He has to swallow hard not to bark a laugh at her, as she’s completely unaware of what seed could also refer to.  The little bird, so innocent it seems.  Does that make him the dirty, old man?

“What did you get?” she asks him.

“Bear claw.”  He’s just licking his fingers at this point to get the icing off.

“Oh, you can only eat pastry with a manly name like bear claw, why does that not surprise me.”

“Bear claws are the best fucking pastry, I don’t care, manly or not.  Better than those bloody ‘cross-ents’ and muffins, too.” 

“Woah, no need to be so defensive about your pastry choices.  I just think it’s cute that you prefer bear claws, _it’s so manly of you_.” she jokingly affects a smitten voice saying that last part, making him shake his head and snort.  Sansa continues, “Anyways, what are ‘cross-ents’?”  Then she has a look of recognition, “Oh, you mean croissants!” Then she’s really laughing some.

He can’t really hold it against her, it’s just pastry, and he smirks over at her before pointedly remarking, “Don’t combine me and cute in a sentence again, and I’ll let it go at that.  Crazy little bird.”

Sitting there watching Lady and Stranger play with the little pup, Sandor took a moment to gather his thoughts. He knew a part of him wanted to keep the girl around, but he always barked at her and knew he’d end up driving her away.  That’s what he did to everyone.  He tried to think of what Elder Brother would say, what he would do, were he here talking to the little bird.  _The old man would root out what had her so upset like he always does with him, but he knows sometimes you have to give a little to receive._ “Ya know, Sansa, you can tell me what’s bothering you, and I’ll do what I can.”

Looking over at him, Sansa replies, “Thanks, you’ve already made things better today.” And gives him a little smile. Then she asks, “Have you named her yet?  I couldn’t help but make some up while you were gone?  She’s just adorable.”

Noticing her change of subject, he just goes with it, “Ah the pup, she came with a name.  Tess.  She’s not mine to keep, little bird, I’m to train her to be a bomb dog.  Picked her up at the Quiet Isle today.”

“Bomb dog?” 

“Yeah, bomb-sniffer for the military. Just my part-time gig, training dogs.”

“Oh, I was scared for a second she was being trained to blow up stuff and get hurt.”  He shook his head again; she’s so worried about animals’ welfare at every moment. How tiring that must be. He does his best with the dogs, and that’s that.  What does she do when she finds a spider in her house?  Probably adopt it and give it a name.  “So, are you in the military then, is that why you’re wearing fatigues?” Sandor had undone his over-shirt and left his fatigue pants on for the park, not thinking anything of it.

“I’m in the Reserves now, I was Special Forces since I was your age up to a year ago.  I don’t want to go into it too much, okay?”

“Okay,” she nods.  He was tensing up but now relaxes, knowing she’s not going to pepper him with questions.  He doesn’t know why but he goes on, “I was discharged after I got injured on what was my last mission.  Should’ve died, it was that bad.  Still have my leg though, the bullet barely missed my femoral artery.”  He hears her gasp, then she reaches over and rests her hand on his forearm. He immediately stiffened at her touch, not recognizing the gesture as comfort at first. 

Taking a shaky breath, he tried to sum up his story, “Now, I spend a week over at the Quiet Isle every month to keep up my training and do some dog training for them and other government agencies.  That’s probably the only reason they let me stay in as Reserves.” He tries to calm himself, knowing the bitterness he often feels can seep in fast.  The little bird doesn’t need to hear that. 

“I’m glad you didn’t die.  And that’s pretty close to being a secret agent, I hope you don’t have to kill me now.”  He looks over to see her smile so sweetly and appreciates her attempt to lighten the conversation. 

“Only if you promise to keep it a secret.” He smirks at her.  Now she’s the one brightening his day.  

“Can I help you train Tess?”  He gives her an appraising look to see the seriousness of her wish.  “Please, I promise to maintain your secret agent status.” 

“Okay, now and then maybe, but don’t expect me to pay you, and don’t let it get in the way of your studies.”

“Oh, Thank you, Sandor!”  She obviously doesn’t know how much work and discipline is required to train a dog up. 

“It’s not all shits and giggles, Sansa. You can’t just dance around in a circle with her and expect Tess to be able to detect explosives.”

“I understand, don’t treat me like a child. Just because I’m not as serious as you all the time doesn’t mean I won’t take training Tess seriously. My dad has actually trained sled dogs up north, thank you very much.”  She gives him an icy look that puts him in his place a bit. _Good for her._

“So, you haven’t lived here long have you?” she inquires.

“Only about six months, tired of living on the isle but didn’t want to live in Saltpans.  Bought a house here since it’s only a 40-minute drive.” She’s going somewhere with this, and it’s probably going to require him to do something.  He looks at her intently trying to puzzle it out as she fidgets with the hem of her dress.  

“Um, I was thinking that it would be fun to do some sight-seeing here in Maidenpool since I just moved here. And I thought you might like to come with me?”  She looks up at him with those hopeful blue eyes again, and he knows he’d probably follow her anywhere if she asks him like that.  Still, he can’t let her know that.

“What the hell is there to see here?”

“Well, there’s the old castle from the time of the War of the Five Kings and some other historic buildings I’d like to check out. I think it’s best we not take the dogs though.”

“Alright, we’ll go Sunday if that works.”

“Perfect.  Thanks again for the muffin and coffee and the puppy. You made my day.”

“I won’t forget you didn’t tell me what got you so upset.”

Sansa turns around and picks up Tess for another twirl before handing her back to him.   She then takes Lady and leaves with a wave, saying, “Okay, I will.  I’ll text you about Sunday.” If anyone had told him a girl like Sansa would plan hangouts with him and say she’d text him, he would’ve punched them in their stupid mouth, even if it were Elder Brother.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note my shameless use of puppy and dog photos and also my food obsession :)
> 
> All this belongs to G.R.R.M.
> 
> Also, I know nothing of training a bomb-sniffing dog or other specializations, so I'll probably be vague. Labs are trained to be bomb-sniffers and they're adorable!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: Maidenpool sightseeing Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use lore and events from ASOIAF as history for Maidenpool to provide some background, and I extrapolated from the wiki entry for the city: http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Maidenpool.
> 
> I've based the historical center of Maidenpool on a charming French town called Vendôme that isn't far from Paris in the Loire Valley. Some of these photos are mine from sightseeing myself. I love old places!

Sansa is so excited to explore Maidenpool today.  She grew up reading stories about Florian and Jonquil who met here and fell in love. She feels a little bad that she kept that part from Sandor, instead bringing up the castle and it’s war history instead, because the sights she really wants to see have to do with the love story.  He would probably not have agreed knowing that.  She smiles to herself, thinking of her unlikely companion.

As much as she wishes she had a real boyfriend to take her around today, she knows it’s just that, simply a wish.  All the boys she meets seem entitled and more interested in the way she looks or her status than who she is.  She sometimes doesn’t know who she thinks she is anymore though.  Maybe this bohemian girl, she’s trying on lately.

Oh and that horrible boy last night at dinner, what was her uncle thinking bringing him along? Uncle Petyr had sent her a text, “Wear something nice, sweetling, a friend will be joining us who’s looking forward to meeting you.”  Hopefully, this wasn’t her mother’s doing.  She’s had a hard time understanding why Sansa had to end things with Joffrey and leave King’s Landing.  _The truth is just too hard_ , she thinks.  _The last thing I need is to be thrown at some other match._

Upon meeting this “friend,” Harry Hardyng, he acts the gentleman, kissing her hand and leading her around to their table, but she can tell he already assumes she’s his for the taking.  He is very handsome but that only reminds her of Joffrey and puts a bad taste in her mouth. Evidently, Harry is the nephew and heir of some prominent lady in the Vale, and he comes to Maidenpool often. Just what she needs – to be someone’s part-time girlfriend. 

The dinner dragged on, him telling her all about himself and everything he’s good at, and her rolling her eyes and giving her uncle the cold shoulder.  She was looking forward to seeing Uncle Petyr; it had been so long since she had seen him or her aunt.  I guess since Aunt Lysa got so sick she couldn’t leave the Eyrie.

Walking out of the restaurant, Harry presumptuously offered drinks at his place to her, to which she honestly told him she was far too tired to stay out any more.  Thinking that all she wanted was her bed and Lady and maybe a muffin since she had lost her appetite during dinner tolerating Harry. She smiled to herself, thinking of Sandor bringing her a muffin to make her feel better.

Harry evidently thought the smile was directed at him.  “Of course, Sansa, I’ll treat you to lunch tomorrow before I leave Maidenpool. It’s the least I can do.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I already have plans.  How unfortunate.” Sansa replied coolly, since he hadn’t even asked her just told her, and she does have plans. This wiped the smug smile off his face.  Harry looked shocked that she seemed to be refusing him.

Uncle Petyr stepped in then, “Sansa, dear, let me walk you home.  I hope you’ll understand Harry, I do need to catch up with my niece.”  Her uncle and Harry shared a look that reassured Harry, and then Uncle Petyr took her arm to escort her home.

A stretch down the street, Sansa couldn’t hold back, “Uncle Petyr, how could you make me put up with that conceited boy?”

“He’s a nice enough young man, handsome, and from a good family.”  Seeing she wasn’t relenting, her uncle continued, “And I promised your mother, I’d look out for you and try to help you find another suitable match if possible.”

Sansa stopped to face him, “Please no more boys, uncle, after my ex, I’ve decided to not pursue any relationships for a year, to just be me.”  

Her uncle rested his hands on her shoulders, “You’ve grown up, my little Sansa, haven’t you? No more boys, huh? That’s smart to focus on your schooling and yourself.  We should continue having dinner on the weekends I’m here and not with your aunt.”

She smiled back at him; it was nice to have someone in her family on her side.  “Thank you, uncle, I’d like that, and I do hope my aunt is well.”

“Petyr, call me Petyr, you’re a woman now.  Lysa still suffers. I do hope you will come to visit her with me sometime.  Come, let’s get you to your door since you’re tired.”  Letting go of her shoulders, he playfully smiled at her, knowing she had said that partly to escape Harry.

 

* * *

 

Sansa is adding details to one of her first class projects, a charcoal still life that’s really already done, as she waits to hear Sandor at the door.  They had agreed to leave from her place and to leave Stranger and Lady together.

She was really interested to hear him open up a bit about his life the other day and could sense that it was new territory for him, so she tried to be understanding and listen. To think he had escaped death! And then his whole life seems to have changed since then.  She can relate to the life you knew being taken from you, and you’re left wondering what you do now.  Joffrey did that to her. 

Maybe it’s a good thing they’ve found each other, or rather Lady and Stranger have for them. She could really use a friend different from the ones she thought she had in King’s Landing.  Sandor really can have a harsh bark sometimes, but he doesn’t actually bite it seems.  _Though he looks just like that growling beast of his – I can never tell him that!_ He is cynical about everything, quick to the defensive, and even difficult to behold with his horrible scarring.  But they say actions speak louder than words and that seems to be the case with Sandor. Everything he does for her, like taking charge of moving all her furniture in and negotiating with that ‘prick’ to bringing her favorite muffin to her after she cried, has been what a true friend would. I guess being in the military so long, Special Forces even, has made him the hard man he is on the outside, but he really seems like a good person.

Finally, she hears Sandor at the door.  Jumping up, she swings open the door with a “Hey Sandor and Stranger!”  He just nods to her, scanning the room, always on alert it seems, before resting on her.  Then he laughs a little, smirking, “You might wanna check the mirror.” And motions to her face.

Confused, she then realizes it’s probably the charcoal getting everywhere again.  The Sansa she once knew would be mortified for someone to see her so disheveled, but what good did looking perfect all the time do for her anyways.  “Oh, it’s just charcoal.  I’ve been doing some homework.  Just give me a sec.” 

She goes to the bathroom to wipe off the charcoal streaking across her brow and on her left cheek. _Goodness, it’s so freeing to not care_ – _it must be how Arya feels all the time._   She grabs her purse and the map sitting neatly on the counter, and they head out.  Lady and Stranger are already lying down next to each other on her rug, looking adorable. How can she be jealous of her dog!

Walking along, she unfolds the map to show Sandor, “I was thinking of stopping by some of the old center sites before heading up to the castle later in the afternoon. It’s supposed to be a nice view from up there.”

“You’re the guide, little bird.  Just following you.”

“Well, to start off, let’s head to the canal bridge where the Fool's Gate opens to the city.  For some background, Maidenpool as you are no doubt aware is named after the Florian and Jonquil lore, where he chances upon her bathing in a pool. It’s also known as the pink city since the town traditionally had pink walls, today the majority of buildings are light pink stucco.”  Sansa can feel the excitement building; she’s always wanted to see all the old sites of Maidenpool.

Taking her by surprise, Sandor bursts into an angry tone, “Wait, I live in the town of the fool and his cunt! Fuck all the gods, FUCK them sideways twice!  How did I not know that? And I sure as hell know everything’s pink, my house is even godsdamned pink.  Thought I could change the color, but evidently there’s some kind of historic ordinance or some other stupid fucking shit.  A man should be able to paint his house any fucking color he wants.  What have I gotten myself into?”  She could barely discern him continuing to mutter irritably to himself at the end of his rant.

Sansa cringes at his coarse language and vehemence that seemed to come out of nowhere. “I know I didn’t tell you the other day about all that, but they’re all really cool historic buildings in themselves.  And Castle Mooton has nothing to do with the love story.  I didn’t mean to upset you, Sandor.”  He seemed to soften as he looked over at her then. She tries to keep his gaze to see if he would stay or leave.   _I should’ve known he wouldn't want to do this, but I didn’t want to do it alone._

He takes in a deep breath, rubbing his temple and sighes, “Alright, we’re burning daylight, go ahead we’re close to the bridge now.  You owe me though.”

She can tell he’s probably trying hard to contain himself, so she moves on.  “See there, down the canal, that’s Jonquil’s Tower, it has a little flag flying on top.  It’s so cute, I love that little gate near the water.  Those are very basic crenellations on top, Sandor, meaning it’s older than the gate in front of us.”

“What? Oh those blocks sticking out on top, that’s cool.  Looks like it would be awfully dark inside, gloomy place for a maiden.  Like a cage for a little bird, would you like to live there?”

She relaxes now that his anger seems to have dissipated, and he’s returned to a good humor. “I’m not sure if she actually lived there, but we’re going to walk over there, so we can see for ourselves. First check out the gatehouse. It’s called the Fool’s Gate after Florian.”

“This one’s a lot fancier than that other tower.  Do you know why they needed those crenellations, Sansa?”

“Sounds like you want to tell me.”  She smiles up at him; of course he picks the buildings apart for their usefulness.

“Well, don’t you catch on, little smartass.  They’re so the men can hide behind but still keep watch and shoot an arrow as needed without being too exposed.  They don’t seem tall enough on the Fool’s Gate.  Wouldn’t want to catch an arrow, I’d rather have a sword coming at me so I can defend myself.  At least you wouldn’t catch an arrow in the knee from up there on the tower.”

“Aren’t arrows a lot like early bullets since they’re both long-range?”

“I see what you’re getting at.  My leg wasn’t my first bullet I’ve taken, little bird, and I’ve been cut up plenty as well. Bet I could’ve wielded a sword back then.”

She gulped thinking of all those wounds, but says confidently, “I know you would’ve been a fierce warrior, even a knight.”

“Of course you would say a knight.” He scoffs at her. 

They walk through the Fool’s Gate, Sansa feeling giddy at how quaint it all is.  Why couldn’t she have visited Maidenpool when she still believed in those songs of true love?  They meander through town, and Sansa loves all the picturesque little canals in the old center.  There’s an old stone water gate spanning the canal to close if needed, and a little washhouse built over a canal that looks like it’s been there since Florian and Jonquil.  Sandor doesn’t share her admiration of the grounds, but she can tell he seems to be glad she’s enjoying herself.  He probably likes it more than he’ll admit to her.

Finally, they’re back to Jonquil’s Tower and walk up the stone steps spiraling up to the parapet on top. Looking out, she points up to the castle ruins, visible on the hill overlooking the old center.

“See what I mean about the outline of the stones now that we’re up here.”  She just smiles at him and nods.  He’s so grounded in the real world, not imagining himself in some song like she has a weakness for.  Somehow reading her train of thought, he smirks at her, “You look like a princess up here waiting to be rescued.”

She giggles, “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He doesn’t realize how close that is to the truth, considering her father is a lord, more an honorific now, but still he has his ancestral seat.

Sansa goes on wistfully, “I always loved the story of Florian and Jonquil growing up. I think I had a picture of this tower in my room actually, and I’d imagine Jonquil looking out from it for her fool-knight.”

“For someone avoiding relationships, you do seem to enjoy all the romantic bullshit.”

“It’s not crap! Anyways, I’m not so naïve, thank you, though I may have been once.  Seeing all this actually makes me a little sad because I don’t believe in it anymore.  I wish I could’ve come here when I was a girl because I would’ve loved it.” She feels a little wetness build in her eyes as she smoothes her hand over the stone wall.  How many times had she imagined herself on top of this tower in her own romance?  She looks up at the sky, trying to keep a tear from falling and reign in her emotions. She doesn’t want Sandor to see her cry again.

“Alright, little bird, let’s hike up to the castle.”  She can feel his hesitation as he lightly pats her shoulder and guides her toward the stairs.  She can’t help but notice how his hand covers nearly half her upper back, and she’s not petite. Sansa can tell this gesture of comfort is out of his comfort zone and that’s what makes it so special to her and she feels so grateful to him.  Never would she have thought this man she just met would be such an encouraging presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know in the comments if you catch my video game reference :)
> 
> All this belongs to G.R.R.M.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV: Maidenpool Sightseeing Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the 'history' here is extrapolated from the ASOIAF wiki for Maidenpool and House Mooton there. 
> 
> The castle is based off the one in Vendôme, France, which is mostly ruins, and also the one in Loches, France, that has more to explore, including an actual underground dungeon on which I base the one in this chapter.
> 
> All this belongs to G.R.R.M.

After leaving old Maidenpool and ascending the hill, Sandor and Sansa visit the old castle, which has seen better days and only one tower remains completely intact though four stand.  He actually takes the time to read the placards set up around the place, explaining the sack of Maidenpool during the War of the Five Kings. Evidently, the lord of House Mooton at the time was locked into the top of the tall tower after the castle was taken by Randyll Tarly, and it was interesting to read about the various battles that took place.  

The little bird got it in her head it would be fun to explore separately and see who could find the other first since it was a large complex of towers with stairs leading every which way.  She obviously underestimated his stealth capabilities, most people do since he’s much larger than the average man. 

Once he is done checking out the castle’s war history, he goes on the hunt for the little bird. He checks through the decorated hall and main floor, knowing she could’ve gotten stuck looking at art, making sure to move quietly and stick to the shadows.  No sign of her.  He then checks the intact tower, knowing she might like the view from the turret, no bird here.  After going through the lower level with the kitchen and then checking the remaining towers, he is starting to get worried.  He surveyed the grounds from the last tower he ascended, and he couldn’t spot her bright head of hair.  _Where the hell has she disappeared to?_

He finds a map of the castle and grounds and goes over it, checking off in his head everywhere he’s looked. Then he sees a marker for the underground castle dungeons.  How’d he miss something so awesome?!  Might as well check there, though it doesn’t sound like a place he’d find Sansa.

Descending the dungeon stairs, he goes through the various cells that are arched to keep from caving in but he still can't stand all the way up, it's so cramped. It’s dank down here, too, smelling a bit like chalk from the limestone, though it’s damp and moss spreads out from the corners.  It’s a larger complex down here than he would’ve thought and without much rhyme or reason to its twists and turns.  He hears some footsteps further down the snaking corridor, so he slips into the nearest cell to spy on whoever is walking in his direction.  Sandor is surprised but relieved to see the little bird, pitifully shuffling along, looking disoriented.  Still, he can’t resist surprising her. 

Sandor jumps out from the cell and grabs the little bird around the waist, growling in his low rasp, “Gotcha!” The unsuspecting bird screams, nearly jumping out of his grasp, her face a look of complete shock.

He keeps a firm grip on her since he can tell she’ll probably collapse if he lets go. She’s trembling from the surprise but aware that it’s him and no longer pulling away.  He’s already laughing heartily, ready to gloat over his victory, and guiltily enjoying the feel of her skin under his hands since that loose crop top she’s got on has been tempting him all afternoon with her bare waist.

Now that there’s no immediate danger of dropping her, he reluctantly places her over against the wall. She slumps against it, panting as she tries to regain her composure.  After a minute, her little hands ball up into fists and she berates him, “Sandor, REALLY!!! I almost had a heart attack. You can’t just sneak up and grab someone in an actual dungeon of all places.  Gods!”

Feeling pleased, he smarts off, “You should’ve known better than to play this game with me, little bird.  They don’t call me the Hound for nothing.  Plus it was too much fun – you should’ve seen the look on your face, you nearly jumped to the ceiling.”  He can’t help but start laughing again.  “Just call it payback for all the Florian and Jonquil shit.”

“Alright, you wicked, crazy man, that was some really good payback.” she says, but he can tell she’s just kidding and is starting to laugh it off.  “Anyways, I’m so glad you found me, I got lost looking for you in this awful dungeon!”

“It’s all right now, little bird, I’ve got you.  Let’s get back to the surface.”  It feels good to save her from the dungeons and that probably fits into her songs, though he’s no handsome knight for sure.

Calm now, Sansa actually grabs his hand for him to lead her out.  _She must have been desperately lost, poor thing._

 

* * *

 

Now, they sit on the castle wall overlooking Maidenpool.  It’s really a nice view, and the sun is starting to get low in the sky, making it even pinker.  Sansa had protested that they were disgracing historic property sitting on the wall, but once she could tell he wasn’t moving, she climbed up beside him.

She looks down noticing the drop off, but then her eyes have a spark to them and a little mischievous smile forms, “This is so rebellious!  My sister would be proud.”  Can’t imagine what she does for fun then, knits and cleans her house?

“Oh, is she a little rebel?”  He hands her an apple and one of the sandwiches they picked up on the way over to the castle since it was getting close to dinner time.  He’d made sure she got a veggie one with seeds, just to mess with her, but she just thanked him being considerate, silly little bird. 

“Thanks. Yeah, Arya, my little sister, she’s always been the troublemaker, and she calls me Miss Perfect sometimes.  We used to never get along because I’d tell on her, and she’d always pull pranks on me. So it was a never-ending cycle of sisterly bickering.  But, she’s been really there for me the past few months when no one else in my family understands.  You actually remind me a lot of her.”

“What? Me?” How can he remind her of a teenage girl?  At least there’s more of a reason behind her being friends with him.

“Yeah, you’re like a giant, male version of her.  She would love to scare me in a dungeon, and you will gain some credibility with her for that stunt.  I bet you two would probably hate each other at first, but then it would grow to a grudging respect and admiration.  I think her goal in life is to become an assassin or computer hacker or both.”

Though he doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about comparing him to her sister, but now that she seems relaxed and talking, the Elder Brother would say to figure out what was wrong the other day.  “Nice.  So are you going to tell me what all that crying about the other day was? I told you I don’t forget.”

“Oh yeah, well, it’s been a trying week.  I was hoping to make a friend or two at school this first week, but I kept getting strange looks and girls generally kept their distance from me.  Some girls actually wouldn’t let me sit with them in the college cafeteria.  It was getting really depressing, and I had no idea what was going on but I should’ve known.  That day this girl in my drawing class, Margaery, who seems really nice, was kind enough to clue me in.  She showed me on her phone that there was a bunch of mean things on the school gossip site someone from my old college put on there.  I transferred here from King’s Landing University after some bad stuff happened.”

“There are gossip websites for college?  That’s ridiculous. Don’t be so hard on yourself. People are just selfish assholes most of the time, me included.  Nothing about you could be that bad – who would do something like that to you?” He can’t imagine anyone being mean to the little bird—she’s just so sweet all the time and even puts up with his bullshit.  A part of him feels guiltily happy that she hasn’t made any friends to replace him yet. He’d like to hunt down the bugger and give ‘em a nice “talking” to. 

“For one, you’re not like that. And yeah, I think it’s stupid, too, but it still hurts.” She seems to worry over something in her head, but she continues, looking out at the town, “I know my ex is behind it, he’s saying I’m a cheating slut and a psycho-bitch, though he’s really describing himself, and is warning everyone to stay away from me. I just thought I could put it all behind me coming here and start over.”  _So the Elder Brother was right about the bad breakup, got to hand it to the man, he knows his stuff. I got to figure out who this asshole is who thinks he can hurt the little bird._

Not able to let her think he’s some kind of good person, he retorts, “You barely know me, or you wouldn’t say that.  But hells, I’d love to punch this asshole in the face, then break his little kneecaps.” Bet he’s one of those scrawny little pretty boys. 

“You’d do that for me?” She looks over and smiles at him though it’s tinged with sadness, and she also thinks it’s an idle threat when it’s a very real one.  _At least she’s not crying, I was afraid she was going to start doing that over at Jonquil’s tower and got her out of there in time._

“Would be nothing for me.  But listen, save yourself some pain, girl, and forget about trying to run from your problems. They find you again wherever you run to and often just get worse when you ignore them.  Trust me I’ve been everywhere from across the sea to the bottom of a bottle, and it’s only a temporary relief.”

She seems upset by him giving her advice and argues, “I’m not running away.” He gives her a look, and she concedes,  “Okay maybe I am, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have left.  You don’t even know what it’s like, okay, you don’t even know who I really am.”  
  
“Of course, I don’t know if you don’t tell me.  I’ve only known you since last week when our dogs decided to take a liking to each other.  And don’t throw a pity party for yourself around me, princess, at least you have a fucking real family and a pretty face.”  He can’t hold himself back from barking at her though he hates the admittance of his own bitterness to her.  He’s trying to help her and she’s just being difficult, _why even try?_  

She snaps back in that snippy voice she uses sometimes that gets under his skin, “Oh, I didn’t realize it was a pity competition instead of a pity party.”

_The balls of this girl, who does she think she’s talking to!_ _Fuck her!_   _Fuck Elder Brother and having a fucking friend!_ Feeling the rage consume him, he swings around off the wall to just leave before the Hound comes out to bite and starts walking away.  He hears her scream out and turns and advances quick enough to grab her before she falls off the fucking wall.  Evidently, she lost her balance trying to follow after him.

“I guess little bird’s can’t fly,” he snarls, still angry.

Sandor steadies her on the wall, and Sansa reaches out to hold onto his arms.  She whimpers, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t leave me.” She just sounds so hopeless and scared that he would just leave her up here that it’s hard to stay mad at her in this state.  Sandor can’t help but wonder at what she’s actually been through that she would cling to him so.

In fact, it’s like all his anger fades away in her presence because it feels good to be needed by her and so near to her that he can take in her fresh, flowery scent. Her waist is so tiny and soft in his huge, rough hands, and now he thanks the gods he cursed earlier for that little crop top she chose to wear today.  He doesn’t want to let her down, figuratively and literally. Still, her roller coaster of emotions is throwing him for some loops, angry one minute, then despondent.

“Let’s get you off this wall before you fall again.”  He just picks her up, holding her under her knees and around her back. It’s easier this way, he tells himself.  She lets out a little surprised “Oh” with wide eyes before he sees a little smile on her face. _Of course, she would love being carried around by her prince charming, I guess she can pretend_ , he rolls his eyes inwardly _._

He sets her down on a nearby bench, then tells her pointedly, “Now don’t snap at me again because for once in my thrice-damned life, I’m trying to fucking help someone.” She just nods at him, looking timid. He should be gentler with her. She seems fragile, but he won’t let it fool him again – she can cut deep if she wants.

“You’re right, I just had so much positive energy about moving here, and this week I didn’t expect to be overwhelmed with all these problems.  There was the horrible gossip thing, but then last night I was just supposed to have dinner with my uncle, who I hadn’t seen in forever, and he shows up with a boy who my mom told him to set me up with. She’s so worried about me ever finding someone suitable now.”  

“Is that why you texted me, ‘thanks for introducing me to the word prick’?”  He’d chuckled when she sent him that. It takes a lot to admit when you’re wrong, too, but she’ll make it through.

“Yes, I didn’t get a chance to use it, but I felt like it.  He was so conceited and presumptuous.  I’m cringing now just thinking about it.  He only talked about himself and acted like I was already his for the taking.  Then the boy was shocked when I didn’t go home with him or want to see him today.” Sandor can feel the aggression start to heat up in him again, thinking about the little bird with some rich boy. Now he’s glad she’s sworn off boys, she wouldn’t probably be around him otherwise.  

“Sounds like a real asshole. I’m glad you can see through his shit. We should get back; the sun’ll be below the horizon soon.  You don’t want to get lost in the dungeon again in the dark.” He smirks at her and adds, “Lady and Stranger probably need out about now, too.”

“Okay, Don’t worry, I’m never going in that dungeon again without you.”  She looks over at him so sincerely, “Oh and Sandor, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, you’ve been the best friend really.  Thanks.”

There’s that word again, “friend,” today’s been the closest thing to a real date or having a girlfriend he’s known, but that’s all it is to her, friendship.  If that’s what she needs, that’s what he’ll be.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV - longer chapter

That week in studio, Margaery actually wanted to hear her side of the gossip since she was aware of what a jerk Joffrey is, which was refreshing.  Seeing this as a way to make a friend, she let Margaery in on some dramatic details to sate her curiosity and suspicions. Careful though because the last thing Sansa wants to do is for anything to get back to Joffrey. It’s just a bonus they are both ladies from similar status.  So, Sansa invited Margaery over to work on a portrait homework assignment the following weekend. 

After crawling out her window, the girls are catching some rays on the roof and passing a joint while they draw each other’s portrait.  “You are so beautiful, Margaery, and I fear I am not capturing it. I’m worried you’re going to think this is how I see you.”  Sansa gives her a peek at what she’s accomplished in the last half hour.

Margaery laughs, “That’s way better than mine, I see more in color—charcoal is not my medium. I wish I didn’t have to take so many studio classes to be a graphic design minor.”

“Oh I thought it was your major, I’m just majoring in Studio Art, but I’ve thought about taking a design class.”

“You totally should! Dance is my life though, even if it’s not really much of a future plan,” Margaery ends with a sigh. “I think this is as good as it gets,” and she shows Sansa her final drawing, and Sansa smiles with a little giggle. The face is barely accurate, but it’s cool that she surrounded her head with flower designs.

Always courteous, she responds, “It’s great, Margaery, I hope you gift it to me at the end of the semester.”  Sansa is tempted to bring up her own dance accomplishments but decides that’s too close for comfort right now.  
  
“Oh no, I have to keep it to remember your beauty by,” Margery winks at her and they both laugh because the rendering really is atrocious. “Let’s get washed up.”

Washing off the charcoal in her bathroom, Margery starts making huge soapsuds and then blowing them at her, making Sansa squeal in delight to avoid them.  Both of them are giggling like schoolgirls. Sansa exclaims, “You are too fun, Margery!” and gives her a little embrace as she catches her breath from laughing.  

“Let’s have some tea, I made some lemon poppy seed muffins, too.  They’re my favorite.”  Margery gives her a flirty, “Yum,” making her laugh again. Sansa can’t help but smile thinking it’s nice to have a girlfriend to just joke around and be girls with. She has fun with Sandor, but it’s different because she’s never known anyone like him before and well, he’s a man after all and a serious one at that.

Sitting back down on her little couch, Sansa chats, “You would not believe it.  I made dinner last week for a friend, and I didn’t even realize it but I had put seeds in every dish I made!  If Sandor hadn’t pointed it out, I would’ve never noticed. He’s actually started calling me little bird, partly because of it.”

Margaery gives her a bright-eyed smile, “Oh Sandor, your _friend_ , what’s he like?”

Sansa scoffs, “Please Margaery, nothing like that.  After Joffrey and everything that happened in King’s Landing, I’ve decided to swear off boys for the year.” 

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea, Sansa, why not try new things?!” she enthusiastically replies. “Does this Sandor know?”

“Yes, he thinks it’s terribly silly of me, I can tell, and loves to tease me about it. He’s a big, tall man, very strong; he moved all this furniture in here without me having to lift a finger hardly.  I’m glad I found him really.  Unfortunately, he has some facial scars, and he can be very abrasive at times.  He’s been a good friend to me since moving here. Lady just adores his dog, Stranger.”  Lady had been quietly lying on the other side of the room, but hearing her name she comes over and stands in front of Sansa with her tongue hanging out, looking at her expectantly. 

Petting Lady, Sansa feels a little bad at how she described Sandor to Margaery, his burns are a very touchy topic for him and she feels like she was flippant about it, like her old self would be.  Then Sansa realizes, “Oh no, I said his name, now Lady thinks we’re going to go see him now.” In a sweet voice to her dog, Sansa tries to explain, “No Lady, we’re not going to go to the park now to see Stranger, maybe later.”  Lady just whines as if she comprehends and sits, looking out the window.

“Wow, your dog must really like his dog.  How do like Maidenpool so far?”

“Oh, it's so charming and quaint. I always dreamed about being Jonquil as a girl, so it was fun to go see all the sights though Sandor was not as amused at being dragged around to them.”  She can laugh now about his rant though it was not funny at the time. He can be so grumpy sometimes. “We had a blast exploring the castle though, we made a big game of hide and seek out of it, except Sandor found me first in the dungeons and scared the crap out of me.  I should’ve known better than go down there, I just couldn’t find him anywhere else.” 

She feels her cheeks warm a little and starts twirling her hair in her fingers as she remembers him grabbing her around her waist and hearing his low voice in her ear. She was so frightened at first, but then knowing he’d found her, she couldn’t help the relief and sense of safety that flooded her being held securely by him.  Still, she had to scold him a little. It was so unexpected and mischievous of him.  How could such a huge man come out of nowhere! 

She could have fainted he gave her such a fright, and he also kept her from falling off that castle wall. What a day to be wearing a crop top! The poor man had to touch her, but he was such a gentleman about it and even lifted her in his arms to the bench. She couldn’t believe this was the same man who had barked at her so roughly a moment before. She’d always felt too tall to ever be picked up by a boy, and it seemed like nothing to Sandor.

Clearing her voice, Margaery gives her a skeptical look, “Recollecting something?  Sounds like you spend a lot of time with this friend of yours, you should bring him to my party in two weeks, I could use all the boys I can get to attend in this town of girls.”

_Where had her mind gone?!_ “Oh, how fun!  I’ll have to ask the man.” Her hand went up to her mouth reflexively, why did she have to point out he was a man and not a boy? Pushing all of these strange thoughts away, “I assume you’ll have dancing?”

“Oh yes, I’m always dancing in my house, party or not anyways.” Margaery relates.

“Can’t wait, I wish it was next weekend!”  Sansa cheerfully replies, though parties make her nervous now. Margaery gives her a sweet smile with her doe eyes, “Oh, I’ll be seeing my brother next weekend in King’s Landing—he goes to school there and now I must be off.  I look forward to you meeting everyone at the party.”

* * *

 

After Margaery left, Sansa felt unsettled about the implications her friend made about Sandor and her.  Silly, of course, she’s not entertaining such thoughts this year and reminding herself of that is freeing enough.

What’s really upsetting her is how Sandor doesn’t seem that engaged as a friend, as she’ll text him to let him know when she takes Lady to the park, but he only showed up once this week with Stranger and Tess.  Only at her urging did they work with Tess on some basic commands, but she could tell he’s been working with her at home already. 

Unsure, she wants to know if he’s still mad at her about the other day, but something about the wall he’s put up since Sunday is too high to climb.  Sansa was hoping he would suggest something for this weekend and even voiced some ideas, but he didn’t speak to her much. If it weren’t for Margaery’s enthusiasm this week, she would’ve felt really alone here.  It’s like he was her friend on Sunday but then today he’s a stranger to her.

Missing the Sandor that showed up with a puppy and got her a muffin on her worst day in Maidenpool, she puts her phone down after considering contacting him and pulls on her ankle boots to get out of the house.  Securing Lady’s new retractable leash, the two set off.  Not sure where to go, Lady leads her to their hidden spot in the park, but it just feel empty without Sandor and the dogs.

Out of the blue, Sansa thinks of those bear claws he loves and sets off to find the bakery that has to be nearby.  Ambling around on the other side of the park, Sansa gets lost in thought wishing she had Jeyne, her best friend from Winterfell, here or even Arya would make things easier. Maybe coming here was just a big mistake and she should have stayed a lady in Winterfell…?

Seeing that they’ve reached what must be the little coffee shop bakery, Sansa stops but then realizes Lady has pulled away to the end of her leash and disappeared around the corner. Soon she sees why – Sandor’s coming around the corner with Stranger on his leash and his typical scowl.

The dogs are giddy as usual and full of energy as when they first see each other after a few days. Feeling herself tense up and her heartbeat accelerate when he notices her, Sansa gives a weak wave, “Oh, Hi Sandor, I know you didn’t plan on seeing me today, and I don’t mean to impose on your time.  I was just walking Lady around the park.”  Sandor just looks at her with a confused expression, “What are you talking about, Little Bird?  I just sent you a text that I was taking Stranger to the park before it rains tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Sansa replies, already feeling silly for all her musings and probably reddening in awkwardness, she must not have heard her phone. 

Neither one of them had noticed the long cord part of Lady’s retractable leash winding itself around them until the dogs decide to dash across the street to the park. They both start to fall into the adjacent café tables, and Sansa doesn’t think she’s ever heard so many variants of curses as Sandor is stringing along in this moment. Refusing to fall, Sandor braces one hand on a chair and his other arm catches her from falling on the sidewalk. She can’t help but cling to his shirt, self-conscious at the precarious position her dog has put them in—like her own motor mouth isn’t enough embarrassment for one day.

As Sandor pulls them up to a standing position, he mutters, “You can let go of my shirt now.” As soon as she does, he’s pulled a knife out of nowhere and is cutting through the black cord of the leash, growling with exertion, “I don’t know why you had to buy one of these blasted retractable leashes.”  Free of their bondage, Sandor motions for her to stay put as he engineers a way to connect the two dogs onto the intact leash.  Tying their dogs to a pole in front of the café with a commanding, “Sit. Stay,” and all is calm again.  

Sansa lets out a “sorry” that’s more like the squeak of a mouse she feels so small. Looking at her, Sandor starts to chuckle with actually a nice smile at the whole situation, “It’s alright, Sansa, you just have a knack for stepping in shit.”  She feels herself lighten a bit and indulges in a giggle at their predicament. 

“Come on now, it’s not like we fell into a pond, let’s see if you have any scratches.” Sandor approaches her, scanning her for any injuries and lifting her arms to check.  Just hearing his deep gruff tone soothes her nerves as he looks after her, Sansa feels content that the Sandor she knows is back, and his guard is down for a bit.  She smiles, “I think you caught me before any damage could be done. Thanks, Sandor, for rescuing me again.”  He just looks away, the corner of his mouth subtly twitching.

She goes on to explain, defeated. “I thought Lady couldn’t get away as easily on that leash.”

“Well, you thought wrong. Doesn’t matter now, we’ll get you a new leash or you can use your old one.  Can’t believe she pulled me off-balance, I’m getting soft.”

Sansa blurts out, “Maybe that’s a good thing.”  

Sandor just gives her a stern look, shaking his head. “Come on let’s get some coffee, since you were trying to find my bakery,” he winks at her.  Sansa huffs, about to protest, but knowing it’s the truth – this impossible man! 

At the counter, the barista cocks a smile at Sandor, “Hound, the usual?” Sandor responds passively, “Thanks Rose,” and nods to her to order.  The woman looks her up and down as Sansa gives her a little wave, addressing her, “Hi, I’m Sansa, Sandor’s friend.” Looking back at Sandor, the woman smirks, “Oh, didn’t know you made _friends._ ” And Sandor actually teases her back, “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”  The woman, who she couldn’t help but notice had one of those too red dye jobs, just grins and laughs.

Trying to break away from their banter, Sansa orders, “I would like tea, do you have redbush or honeybush? Those are my favorite.” In the corner of her eye, she noticed Sandor’s adam’s apple moved like a gulp, and he looked away from her as she said that.  The barista just chuckles and says, “Of course, sweetheart, pastry?”

Sansa levelly replies, “I think I’ll have a bear claw as well.”  That made Sandor’s eyes snap back to her, and his one brow furrows in confusion. 

“Since when do you eat those?” he questions her.  Sensing her chance to get an upper hand in their conversation, she casually answers, “I heard they are the best fucking pastry.”  Seeing his eyes widen in temporary shock, leaving him unmoving; she moves to pay but is immediately blocked.  _Well, he recovered fast._

“Don’t even try to pay for me.  What do you think you’re doing, Sansa?” _At least she has his full attention now._   Not understanding the issue, she responds, “Why not? My dog almost toppled you over a few minutes ago?  My treat to make up for my continued mishaps.” 

Sandor glanced over at _Rose_ , whose eyebrows are raised watching their back and for, as she mentioned the toppling part, and sternly replies, “Sansa, I’m a grown man, I think I can handle coffee and bear claws and whatever the fuck bush tea is.  And that’s the end of it.”  _He can sure bark orders when he wants to._

She relents, “Fine, but I got next time.” And he’s shaking his head as she follows him back outside to sit with their dogs loaded down with their goodies.

She takes a sip of her redbush tea and carefully pulls apart her bear claw to taste bite size pieces, and voices, “Not bad, no lemon poppy seed, but alright.  Want to try my redbush tea, Sandor?”

Sandor blinks at her, seeming to think over something, “Really, redbush, nothing registers?” She rolls her eyes, “You don’t have to try it.”

He interjects, “Oh, I’m a fan of bush, could be a fan of redbush, not sure yet,” and Sandor picks up her cup to take a sip, keeping eye contact as he takes a long drink. Sansa is unsure why she feels out of her depth in this moment. “Hot but sweet,” he says after he makes that “Ahh” sound after a long drink, setting her cup back in front of her. She’s perplexed but politely responds, “Well, I hope you like it.” To which he just chuckles a little, at least he seems less formidable today.

Finished with his pastry, Sandor asks, grinning at the end of his question, “What was all that about earlier before Lady’s leash had us all tangled up?”  She’d somewhat hoped he’d forgotten, but she’s just glad to have his concern, “I just was worried you were mad at me still about last Sunday since you haven’t talked to me much this week.  When I saw you, I was thinking about how I wish my friend or sister was here or that Maidenpool was maybe a mistake. I thought you didn’t want to see me.”  She looked down at her hands wrapped around her tea, feeling timid again.

He answers, “First of all, you’d know if I was mad at you, and…” he seems to grapple for words, “Rose is right, I’m not known to have many friends, especially not young women, so I may not be much of a friend for you.  You said you were going to see Mary or something this weekend, so I just thought you were with her.”

“Margaery is nice, we may be friends, but she reminds me of my friends in King’s Landing, honestly. We hung out and did some homework, but she doesn’t have a lot of time for me, she just met me, ya know. Sandor, if you don’t want to be my friend, that’s okay, just let me know.”  Sansa feels like she’s going to have to start over again and looks over at Lady and starts to get up out of her chair to head home.

“Wait,” Sandor puts his hand over hers still on the table to keep her from getting up. She sits back down, looking back into his grey eyes that look so uncertain, and she’s not sure if she feels numb or just every emotion at once. 

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy, little bird.  I had no idea you were thinking any of this, if you want to hang out, you just need to tell me.  I’m not that complicated, don’t assume I don’t want to see you or that I’m angry, just ask me. Now, I’m going to be honest, can you handle that?”  Sansa nods and buckles herself down to not react impulsively.

He takes in a deep breath, she can tell he doesn’t want to say what he’s about to, “I have a therapist, and he’s a lot smarter than me.  He wants me to make a friend here, that’s where you come in, Sansa. I told him about you, and he thinks you’ve been through a bad breakup and that since you’re young and going through a lot of changes in life, he could help refer you to a therapist here. You need more than me or your other new friends here to talk through some of this stuff.”

Sansa feels herself start shaking a little midway through his talk and looks down at his hand, and then finds herself turning her hand over to grip his.  She quietly responds, “Maybe.”  Holding her hand, he exhorts, “Hey, if I can do it, you can, okay?  What do you want to do now, little bird?”

Still timid and looking down, she asks, “Can we just hang out at my apartment with the dogs?” Sandor answers, “Okay, we can do that. We’ll go to the park together during the week and hang out next weekend, would you like that?”  Looking up and smiling at him, feeling more secure in his friendship, “Yes!” Then he sighs, “Happy again already?  Crazy little bird,” and he gives a little smirk back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this wonderful Sansan fan art: http://eeba-ism.tumblr.com/post/99303437602/re-posting-separately-because-tumblr-loves-to-eat
> 
> FYI redbush or "rooibos" tea as you often see it and honeybush tea are both real African teas and they're great :) 
> 
> All this belongs to G.R.R.M.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV/Sansa POV

**Sandor**

Sandor pulls his t-shirt over his head and tries to arrange his wet hair hoping he looks decent. This is the shirt Sansa said she liked, something about the color and his eyes.  It’s the only real color one he’s got, and it was clean so he wore it the other day.  He feels a bit stupid, taking a shower when they’re planning to go run with the dogs at the bay trail, but it wouldn’t do showing up worse for wear, she’s a sensitive one, the little bird. 

After getting his dogs in the truck, he checks his hair in the car mirror like a fool, _as if it matters,_ since he doesn’t keep a mirror in the house.  This week has been different.  After thinking she’d move on to friends at her school, he couldn’t have been more wrong. She was on the edge of tears thinking he didn’t want to be her friend at the coffee shop last weekend, later explaining how he hadn’t responded to many of her texts that week or suggested hanging out with her that weekend though she claims she made “hints.” Hopefully, he made it clear to her to just ask him or tell him directly, it doesn’t have to be complicated.

_Gods_ , he doesn’t understand how she could read into nothing and be so upset.  If he’s being honest with himself, he was trying to hold back, keep it a casual friendship with the dogs, because he knows he doesn’t want to be just friends with her. Crazy little bird seems like she’s chosen to ignore that possibility.  So, he didn’t hold back this week, and they’ve seen each other with the dogs almost every day.  She’s been relaxed and playful, but she treats him like some kind of big brother. 

She’s waiting at the curb as he pulls up, and he helps get Lady in the back, handing her Tess, who’s going to be the friendliest bomb sniffer ever once Sansa’s done with her. Sansa looks up at him with a radiant smile; she’s gotten way too used to looking him in the face now and reading his emotions too well, too, “Hey Sandor, what’s up?”

“You know what’s up,” he replies in his usual scowl, but she just rolls her eyes at him. He continues, “Now let’s get out to the bay.  I may be old and out of shape, but I can still beat your ass.”  She looks at him skeptically, “How are you out of shape? I can barely get my hands around your arm,” and reaches over to demonstrate. That’s another thing, she’s gotten too comfortable with him, touching his arms all the time. _Dammit_ , he’s going to have to put a list together for Elder Brother to figure out this shit for him.  His mind wandering, he wonders, _what would she do if he stopped the truck and kissed her right now?  The little bird needed to be kissed badly.  That pink little pout of hers._ He checks the rearview mirror to put his blinker on.

“Sandor?” he hears her softly question, shaking him out of his devolving train of thought. Clearing his throat, “Uh, yeah,” pulling his arm away from her clutches, “before my recent injury, I had almost twice the muscle mass I am now.”

She responds disbelieving, “What?  No, that would make you like the strongest man in Westeros.”  He had good reason to be at the time, and he snarls, “If not, I would’ve given him a run for his money,” feeling the resentment at losing his revenge, but the little bird doesn’t need to know about that.  “Reminds me, the dogs and I’ll be at the Quiet Isle all week, leaving tomorrow.”

He can only see her in his periphery but can sense her disappointment and the doldrums settling over her at this admission. _Gods her changing moods will be the death of me._  Hugging Tess to her and petting her for comfort, Sansa says in a sadder tone, “Lady and I will miss all of you, especially you little Tess.  You’re growing up too fast.  Sandor, will you be back Saturday?” she looks back over at him hopefully.  He answers, “Yeah,” feeling apprehensive about her plans.

“Well, I hope you’ll come with me to Margaery’s party, will you?  It’ll be fun, she invited us bo--.”  He interrupts, “No, absolutely not.  What would I do?  Why don’t you just go have fun with all those girls because that’ll be the bulk of it and what poor excuses for males you can sweep up in Maidenpool.”

“Sandor!” she pleads, then apparently thinking for a moment, “You’re right, there will be lots of girls for you to meet.  Free booze” and she puts it on thickly with a pathetic pout, “I’d feel safer knowing you’re there with me, and I just want you to come.”  _Gods this girl is good, figuring out how to play him, though free booze and drunk girls would’ve been enough once._

“So you want me to follow you around like a bodyguard all night, yet somehow find the time to fuck some silly college girl drunk enough to forget my face.  Does that sound fun?”  He can see her flinch in his periphery and get that faraway look she has when she must be remembering something.  She’s lost to him for the moment, he must’ve triggered something with his coarse reproach and gone too far.  Still it’s frustrating and he doesn’t want to take it back, she likes to paint everything as wonderful when it’s just not the way it is. And hells, he doesn’t belong at some young party with people her age, and she should know that.

Not sure what to say to get her back in the present, he’s relieved it’s time to park. Turning off the engine, he tries to be gentler, “Little bird, you okay?”  Then, as if nothing happened, she challenges, “If I beat you to the first mile marker, then you’re going with me.”  Then, she gets out, deposits Tess in the truck bed with the other two, and just takes off.   _Shit!_

 

* * *

**Sansa**

Sansa just needed to think and needed to be away from him and what he had said.  She couldn’t look at him, so she’s just running.  Literally running away from him and running hard so he won’t catch her.  _Does she really know him at all?  Would he be different if she was that silly drunk girl who wouldn’t remember?_

Not having looked back or really heard him since he had stopped calling out for her at the first mile, it came as a surprise when he suddenly tackled her at a bend in the trail.  I guess somehow he had taken a shortcut to catch up to her.  Sansa’s yelling out, “Let me go! Let me go!” and attempting to wriggle out of his uncompromising hold, though he was kind enough to hit the ground first.

Sandor bellows at her, “Will you calm down?!  Shit, stop moving.  Say you won’t run off again and I’ll let you go.”  She sighs, stops moving, “I promise.”  Not letting go, he bites, “What do you promise?”  Exasperated, she grits out, “I promise I won’t run away.”  And he lets her tumble off him to the ground.

They just sit there, knees bent, a lot like when they met, but the poor dogs are probably confused back in the truck this time.  Staring out at the Bay of Crabs, they’re both catching their breath and letting the silence and time stretch to calm their nerves. 

Sandor breaks the quiet, “Well, you’ve proven your point, I’m old and can’t keep up, so I’ll go with you if it means that much.”  Her resolve cracks a bit, knowing he has no idea why she’s run three miles straight to get away from him.  It’s also oddly comforting to have him actually run the whole way after her and not give up.

“Okay, I guess we can walk back to the dogs,” but as she gets up, he places his hand on her shoulder to keep her in place, and she involuntarily shrinks from him and wraps her arms around her knees to hug herself in a little ball.  “Please don’t touch me,” she whimpers, as she feels her blood turn cold.

The rational part of her knows Sandor must be at his wit’s end, having driven her out her with the dogs after such a lovely week, just to have her break down three miles from the truck. He should’ve let her walk away last week, saved himself from dealing with her.

She can hear the frustration in his voice but he’s fighting to remain calm, “Sansa, I was going to say I don’t know what I did or said to cause this, but I didn’t mean to upset you. Why didn’t you stop at the mile?” She doesn’t know how to answer, so he just continues, “Do you think we can start walking back and talk? I won’t touch you again, I promise.”  He sounds so broken at the end of his statement that she feels herself start to break open, but how could she explain to him?  He can’t know.  What would he think of her?

He stands but doesn’t move to help her get up, and it tears her apart to think she’s just ruined everything, and he’s going to be guarded again towards her.  Deciding to put off their discussion, she requests, “Can we just run back to make it quicker, and then let the dogs play on the shore and talk?”  He just nods and picks up the pace, but she can tell he’s wincing a bit with his leg, _probably because I made him run so hard to catch me_ , she blames herself.

Sandor re-parked so they could sit on the tailgate and watch the trio get wet and run around along the shore.  It really is beautiful here; she can make out the mountain foothills in the Vale across the bay. Taking a deep breath, she plunges in, “I know you’re probably really confused, but I’m just sensitive about girls too drunk to remember and what you said shocked me.  You also have a way of twisting what I say into a blunt meaning I didn’t intend.”

He responds, intense but not harsh, “For one, I do take your pretty words and adapt them to what they really mean for me.  And I may have gone too far, but that’s essentially what you mean, saying there are girls at a party for me to meet, Sansa, and I was trying to shock you into realizing what a bad idea having me there would be.  Though, I won’t lie to you, when I was drinking, there are a lot of nights I don’t remember and that I woke up with someone that was probably as drunk as I was.  But, you know, I quit drinking with the leg rehab.”  Sansa is a bit struck by what he’s saying, she knows he is different than maybe he once was, but it’s still a lot to take in.

Then he asks her, “Did something happen to you or a friend of yours?”  Not expecting him to phrase a question that way, she thinks of seizing on the idea of telling him about something that happened to a friend of hers as a way to explain some of her experiences.

Looking out at the horizon, she brings it up, “Well, I did have a friend there, Jeyne, who would come to the parties at my now ex-boyfriend’s brotherhood house where he and some of his friends lived.  We would all drink a lot, but one time she woke up alone in one of the bedrooms, and she was completely naked.  But she couldn’t remember when she took her clothes off and what happened or who with.”

Not missing a beat, Sandor asks, “Weren’t you there?  Didn’t you see what happened to her?”  She doesn’t know how to respond, so Sansa gives a weak reply, “Um, yeah, I was there but a lot of stuff was happening and I was drunk, too. I always stayed close to my ex to be safe.”  The last thing she wants is Sandor getting ideas and to probe further.  She feels a bit on edge, seeing Sandor digest her story with his stern, military face on. 

Then, he turns to her in all seriousness and she looks him in his sober eyes, “Sansa, I know we haven’t known each other long, but I want you to know that me right now,” and he points to his chest, “would never take advantage of you in a drunk state or otherwise or let someone else if it was in my power to stop him. Now, your friend was most likely raped.  Cowards force women and children, and they all deserve to die.”  What a severe statement!  What does she say to that?  She wants to scream at him, Jeyne wasn’t raped, that doesn’t happen to girls like them!  Though she hears herself whisper, _maybe he’s right_.  

She knows her eyes must be bigger than a deer’s as she swallows trying to right herself, now looking back at the horizon.  Still, a part of her is relieved and never thought Sandor would do something like that to her, but people you think you know can turn out to be different unfortunately.

Before she can try to say something, he instructs, “Now, little bird, you and I are going to dunk ourselves in the bay.”  She goes to protest, “What!?  But it’s probably cold and we don’t have swimming clothes or towels…” 

Not letting her continue, he voices, “No buts about it, it’ll be good for you, wash all that away, and don’t make me pick you up and throw you in.” he threatens.  Though she knows he wouldn’t dare touch her now after how she reacted earlier, and it makes her beat herself up some more.

Pulling off their socks and shoes, Sandor also takes his shirt off as well, and she can’t help but gape at him.  She’d felt his arms, but seeing him now, he’s the most muscular man she’s ever seen! She can see some of his scars, including what looks like it could have been a bullet to his right shoulder, and he has dark hair covering his chest and trailing down to the edge of his shorts. 

Breaking her from her reverie, “Come on little bird,” he motions to her to follow him and she can feel the blush heating up her face as she picks her jaw up.  So she starts wading in hoping the blush fades fast, and the dogs are super excited and starting to swim around them. Her hair is going to be a mess, but she doesn’t care, taking a deep breath and plunging herself into the cool water, letting it cleanse her of it all.  She feels like a little weight is lifting off her, and it makes her feel freer and content to be here in this new place with her new friends.

She’s surprised Sandor doesn’t try to splash her with water like her siblings would, but he mostly plays with Stranger, dunking him and tossing a buoyant toy for him to swim off to. Though little Tess is giving him a run for his money, taking to the water like the little retriever she is. Lady is not so jubilant about getting wet, and they’re both the first ones out.

Wet and back in the truck, she notices she missed a text from her uncle, “Dinner tonight, sweetling?” and she feels bad that she doesn’t want to leave Sandor, knowing he’ll be going to the Quiet Isle tomorrow, so she just answers, “tomorrow?” “Can’t, rain check?” he responds. She lets him know, “Okay, miss you!”

Getting back in the truck Sandor asks her, “What’s up, you going to dinner with your uncle?”

“Nope, I’m hanging out with you and finding some way to get dry soon hopefully.” She laughs, and he just has his permanent scowl back in place.  “Anyways, I was wondering, how old are you? You can’t be over 40, so you’re not really old like you say.” 

He just gives her a deeper scowl, “How old do you think I am?”  She sighs and rolls her eyes, “Not with the guessing again!  I don’t know that’s why I asked.”  He shakes his head, replying, “You just have to know everything don’t you?” 

“Alright, Mr. Grumpy, never mind,” she mocks him.  Sandor just snorts, driving them back into town.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joff's brotherhood house - essentially fraternity house, just didn't want it to be too American. :)
> 
> All this belongs to G.R.R.M.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV Part I: Pre-party

“So yeah, I got some intel for you on this new friend of mine – and you’d have been proud, I actually brought up her seeing a therapist.” Not lying, Sandor was looking forward to seeing Elder Brother to discuss the events of the past few weeks.  He’d been tempted to call him a few times with his evidence that women are in fact crazy, especially 19-year old ones.  He’s lived it and survived, now it was his responsibility to report back.

“That’s all good, but Sandor you know we’re here to talk about you, not your friend. You’re not out of the woods yet. Still having the dreams?” the old man tries to redirect.

“Not as bad, medicine’s helping with those.”  Definitely not bringing up the new presence in his dreams that’s helped, too, a certain red-haired girl who covers his cock with her perfect pink mouth, keeping those blue eyes locked with his as she goes all the way down. Trying to shake his direction of thought before the ever observant brother catches on, he brings up the side of the girl he’s more used to, “I even thought about making a list at some point, this girl’s so up and down.  Sad or thinks I’m mad at her one moment, then as soon as trouble’s gone, she’s as happy as a little singing bird.”

 “This can be normal for young women to some degree. Do you think you’re starting to develop feelings for her?”  _Of course, the brother has to word it like that._  

Knowing he doesn’t have to tiptoe around the old man, Sandor lets on, “I’d fuck her, if that’s what you mean, but I’ve been trying to respect her boundaries, as you said, and she seems oblivious to any kind of interest on my part.”

“I’m concerned you may be getting too attached to her when she may not return those feelings or not for some time.  Now that you’re learning to relate to women better, consider going on an actual date with a women nearer in age to you.  What else?” 

Sandor reacts, “A date! Like it’s that easy. And I’m not attached to her—she’s too attached to me for fuck’s sake!  Sending me photos of her and Lady missing Stranger and me this week. What do I do with that?”

The old man reiterates, “It can be easy, perhaps try a woman already familiar with how you appear, and ask her to dinner, try to relate to her like Sansa and she may consider you a friend or more.  Just be cautious with Sansa.” The old man gives him the look that means he will take no more waffling on the subject, so he might as well move on.

“Alright, back to my intel, since you may need to update your information on the female mind. So, on Saturday, she has some kind of breakdown off something I said, no surprise there, but she reacted strangely, flinching severely when I touched her shoulder, asking me not to touch her, when it has never bothered her before.”  He sees the old man nod, so he continues, “Right, I know what you’re picking up on.  So, I did the classic, be honest with her and then ask her if something ever happened to her or a _friend_ ,” he makes air quotes around friend.  “See what I did there with the friend part.”

“I’m not sure I want to know about your machinations to interrogate this poor girl.” Elder Brother actually chides him for this!

Sandor growls, “I’ve got to find shit out if I’m going to solve her problems.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want you to solve her problems, Sandor.  A lot of times, a woman just wants someone to listen to her, and she will work through it on her own,” the Elder Brother calmly points out to him. He’s usually not wrong about stuff either.

“Okay, I’ll keep that in consideration.  So, she tells me about her friend waking up naked in a bed, alone, without any memory of how she got there and in that state.  And I could tell she was lying, but it was a partial lie.  The truth in it was that it happened to her, not her friend. I know this because she said she stayed close to her now ex-boyfriend during parties to stay safe, and that’s a lie because this is the same ex that has harassed her online at the start of school here. Doesn’t sound safe to me. I can sniff out a lie, too.” Sandor feels like the Elder Brother should be impressed, but the information seems to have no effect on the man.

With fingers steepled at his mouth, thinking, the Elder Brother then relates, “What you have deduced may be true, but you need to be careful how you handle this kind of information from her.  If it is true, she really may need to talk to someone with training in psychology.  I’ll give you the information for someone in Maidenpool for you to give to her.  No more investigations though, Sandor,” the brother emphasized the last part.

“I guess the background check I want to run before she comes over to my house is out then?” he smirks at the old man.

“I know you’re being serious about that.  And yes, I know trust is hard, but what harm could she do coming to your house that you would need a background check for?”  He slumps in his chair to show his annoyance.   _Not the trust word, Gods_ , all he wanted was a little interest in all this Sansa stuff from him, but he hits him with all this other stuff:  dating, no investigating, and fucking trust.

Heaving a sigh, he relents, “Alright, but if shit hits the fan, I’m coming for you.” He mildly threatens, can’t let anyone think the old dog’s not under there somewhere. He quickly reports, “Training’s going well though, the other two dogs are ready to go to King’s Landing soon for customs.”  The brother just nods, “And everything else is going well?”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll check out in the morning to head back.”  The old man softens, looking at him like the only family he’s got, and gets up to walk him to the door with a pat on the back.  “Just remember what we talked about, and I’m glad you’re making more connections in Maidenpool.  Looking forward to seeing you next month, if I don’t hear from you earlier, Sandor.”

Getting ready to head out that next morning, he gets his gear together and the dogs.  Tess has been doing well, though she gets distracted easily by people—Sansa’s training in action.  Felt good to be up and working hard on the training course every morning and letting out some rounds in between doing some of the more intensive dog training out here. 

Sandor’s phone buzzes as he gets in the truck, the little bird of course, wants him to meet her as soon as he can at her place to catch up before the party. Why does she have to have him around all the time?  She’s got Lady with her, it’s just been him and Stranger for a while now and he doesn’t get lonely. Better respond or she’ll be upset, he remembers.

 

* * *

 

Sandor shows up at her place about an hour before the party, and she’s a little perturbed he can tell but in high spirits, too, especially to see the display put on by Stranger and Lady. She brings out her favorite toys to show Stranger, and then they share one of them, nestled up on the rug.

Distracted by the dogs, he doesn’t react in time to dodge Sansa as she greets him with a hug, shocking him to his core, and he just pats her on the back, stiffly. “Hey Sandor, we missed you guys, why didn’t you come earlier?  I thought you’d wear your blue shirt.” 

“I just got back and had stuff to do at the house, don’t start.”  _Let her take some pushback, gods, thinking she can order me around.  Since when are we on a hug basis?_  Noticing she rolls her eyes, he just deepens his scowl.  He didn’t want to go to this damn party, and he’s not going to wear his blue shirt to it.  He asks casually, “What was your week like?”  He comes in and sits on her little yellow couch, couldn’t she have bought normal-sized furniture, it’s not like she’s short?

She goes to pick something up, responding, “Okay, caught up on some stuff and started a paper.”  Sitting down next to him, she’s looking at something dark blue in her lap, “I got you a shirt, and I was going to give it to you later, but…” she doesn’t finish that thought.  “I hope it’s big enough, it just reminded me of you, isn’t it neat?”

A hug and now she’s giving him something!  Sandor is not making sense of her actions, but just goes with it. Elder Brother didn’t prepare him for this. Taking it from her, he looks it over completely, “2X might be tight in the arms.”  It’s got some dumb wolf in a suit on it, why does this remind her of him?  She’s the one with the wolf dog. 

“I guess it’s alright…thanks,” he mumbles, not sure what she expects of him.  You’re supposed to thank people for gifts, he’s pretty sure, though the word feels weird on his tongue.  Sansa just beams at him, “You’re welcome!” so he must’ve said something right.  _For once._  

“Will you try it on?” she asks of course.  He heaves a sigh and walks into her bathroom to do so.

Looking in her proper mirror, he finds himself studying the scars that he avoids, the ones he likes to pretend he doesn’t care about but he knows they’re what everyone sees when they see him.  Gods, they’re hideous, he doesn’t even have a fucking eyebrow and the skin droops over his eye a little bit.  He doesn’t feel that half of his face as he rubs his hand over the contours and taut surface.

And then Sansa, the beautiful creature in there, is dressing him up, giving him hugs, and about to take him to her party with all her girlfriends, like her own fucking dog on a leash. He hates to say he doesn’t recognize himself when it’s the same fucking face looking back at him. He feels he's trying to walk on ice, resorting to all fours as he tries to maintain his center of gravity, he needs to regain control somehow.  So, he goes ahead and changes shirts, and like he thought it’s tighter on him than what he usually wears but not uncomfortably.

Stepping out, he bites, “Got your dog dressed to go meet all your friends now?” She looks at him all confused and _innocent_ , “Lady’s not coming with us.”

“You know what I mean,” he glares at her.  He can see it dawn on her what he means, and he knows she didn’t do it on purpose. Still, he feels controlled, like she’s trying to remake him into whatever she wants him to be without her even realizing it.

Now he can see the hurt written all over her face as she tries to hold herself together, “How can you say that to me, Sandor?”  Then, the little bird walks up to him with her fists clenched, “I’d hit you if it did any good but violence is not the answer.”  Then, she squeezes around him into her bedroom, slamming the door. Gods, she just shuts down when she’s mad and it’s so annoying!  Why can’t they just hash it out!  She’s got to pout and close herself up till he’s brought low enough to not even fight it.

Lady gets up and paws on Sansa’s door, she’s got a better chance than him for entrance, that’s for sure.  He swears Stranger is giving him a look of disappointment, “Thought you had my back, old hound."  Fuck, he wishes he could kick something.

He goes to sit on the stupid fucking little yellow couch, sending Sansa a text to come out and playing some dumb game on his phone, as his watch begins.  

After half an hour of boredom, Sansa steps out of her bedroom in a completely different getup, like some hippie concert chick though more casual than he thought she’d be for a party.  She doesn’t look at him when she asks, “Still coming with me?”  He just sneers, “You won the race.”

“You don’t have to come,” she snips.  He knows he’s damned if he does, damned if he doesn’t at this point, and he hates to change plans last minute.  “I’m going, it’s already decided, let’s just get out of here.”

“Redbull?”  She asks bending over at the fridge.   _Fuck me, does she have to wear such tiny shorts?_ “Sure.”

Out on the street, she has him hold her redbull as she lights up, but he soon gets a whiff that it’s not a cigarette, “Really, princess, never thought you’d be into the mary jane?”

She gives him a look that makes him feel old, and explains, “It helps me chill out, especially for going to a party with a bunch of people I don’t know.”

Handing her back the redbull, he can’t help but snort, “Then why are you guzzling redbull?”  As if it’s obvious, she answers, “For energy.”  He chuckles at the paradox of that–wanting to be hyped up but relaxed at the same time.

“Planning on getting fucked up, little bird?”

“You read my mind again,” she snarks, _Gods he’s had about enough of her snippy attitude, it’s going to be a long night._  

He snarls back, “Is that why I’m here to carry your drunk ass home and make sure you don’t end up like your _friend_?”  He told her this was going to be _fun_.

“Gods yes, why else would I want you around, big man? Oh maybe it’s because you’re like my friend and I don’t have a lot of those and I like having you around, but that’s just unimaginable, right?”  He can sense her inhibitions starting to slip away as she’s finally voicing what she’s upset over.  Arguing with the little bird high, this could be entertaining.

“I have to complain a little, wearing your shirt and going to some college party and I don’t even drink anymore. And I’m going to have to fight you from getting too wasted.”  He takes her joint for a few hits, a little weed never hurt anything.

Pointing her finger at him as if he just laid down some wisdom, “True, you have to be a little grumpy or you wouldn’t be the Hound, right?  I get it now!  But the shirt is so cute on you and it’s yours now.”  She paws the shirt a little with scrunched eyebrows and a little pout, evidently contemplating the cuteness of it – he told her not to call him that.  Smirking at how adorable she can be, he keeps to himself that it will always be her shirt really because he’ll always remember she gave it to him.

Continuing on toward the party, Sansa rambles with as much seriousness as she can muster high, “But Sandor, don’t fight me, I’m tough, and if I want to get drunk I’ll get drunk but not too drunk, ya know.  The correct level of drunkenness is important to maintain. I have to drink, people like me better drunk anyways.”  He had started to chuckle at her going on about being drunk before his mouth stopped moving, disturbed at her last statement.  They had arrived at the door, so he’ll shelve it for now but _that’s just fucked up_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if you hate Elder Brother in this! He means well and he'll get on the sansan ship in this story soon :)
> 
> Link to wolf shirt: http://www.designbyhumans.com/shop/t-shirt/men/mr-wolf/30151/


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV Part II: The Party!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Links for Dancing:
> 
> Tiesto, Matthew Koma “Wasted” – 60s inspired, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AmEIemQfk34
> 
> Charli XCX, Rita Ora – Doing It, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Km3agvlyRmM

Sansa grabs his hand leading through the house to find Margaery, who then makes a huge fuss, giving the little bird a big hug and introducing her to her immediate group. Sansa is trying to introduce him as her friend to everyone in the room, when Margaery gasps, “Oh this is Sandor!” Confused at her reaction, he just nods, thinking, what has the little bird been saying?  He feels the eyes on his scars from the room and is looking around for a reason to retreat, when the little bird squeezes his hand she was still clutching and asks Margaery something about dance, which brings the focus back to her thankfully.  He feels a bit more reassured now.

Margaery exclaims, “Let’s all do shots first!”  Most of them start heading to the kitchen, and he leans down to whisper in Sansa’s ear, “Try to stick to a three drink max, shots included.”  She pouts a little but nods, saying, “Won’t you come?”

“Naw, I’m fine here,” he shrugs. “Okay, but I’m going to get you for dancing,” she smiles at him as if dancing is normal.  He feels a sliver of fear go through him at that word but quickly cuts that down, “Don’t bother, I don’t do that shit.”  She lets go of his hand with a sad look and turns to head to the kitchen bar. He lets out a breath and sits down in the tiny office/studio space, grateful for a moment of peace in this house.

Just for a moment though as evidently one of the girls from the previous group got dared to approach him. Looking at his chest, she asks him, slurring, “Cr-crazy scars, like-like it must be an awesome stor-ry how you got them?”  She peeks up at him at the end of her question, trying to be coy.  He returns a resounding, “Fuck off!” and her eyes widen in fear before she scuttles away.

Sansa must’ve heard him because she slinks in after a minute and timidly asks if he’s okay. “Yeah, just got hit on in the worst possible way.  You keeping yourself paced?”  She reacts, “What?! I walk away for a few minutes and you got hit on?  I’m cool, did two shots with Margaery.  She’s fun.  You need to come in there with me, why are you in here all alone?  We can dance, haven’t you danced before?”

“No, Sansa, I’ve never danced, I don’t do that.” _Can’t she let it go?_

“What? Never?  I can’t believe that.  I’ll have to teach you sometime.  At least come back to where everyone is.”

He follows her back into the main room where Margaery calls out to the little bird, so he just gives her a little nudge to join her.  It’s good for her to have girls as friends.  He did most his drinking at bars or his house so this is different. He sits down in the little sitting area where some other people are chatting and playing a game with cards with words that seems stupid though there are a number of people standing and mingling about with drinks in hand.  Some of the girls have pushed the dining table out of the way to make a little impromptu dance floor. 

He doesn’t recognize the music, shit he’d never listen to, but it looks like Margaery and her are enjoying picking out songs they know the different steps or just moves to. He’s never seen her quite like this, shoes kicked off and so unrestrained, other than when she was dancing with Tess in the clearing. 

Some song comes on about being wasted, and Sansa’s jumping and swiveling her curvy little hips, looking so happy, and she twirls Margaery around as they join hands, dancing together, singing out to each other.  _So pretty that she just lights up everything_ , he tries to only watch out of the corner of his eye to not seem like some creeper, drooling over them.  Just her really, though he wouldn’t mind if Margaery joined in, and she looks like she wouldn’t mind either.

He notices some pretty boy come down the stairs, some girl trailing after him, and he’s got one of those smug grins on his face as he rejoins the party. _Great he missed the arrival of this pompous ass. Like the party couldn’t get more fun,_ he thinks sarcastically.  Though watching Sansa dance has him rethinking his strong stance against the act.

Sansa has gone into the kitchen and he gets up to go talk to her, but this is the moment the pretty boy recognizes him.  He must have a few years or more on these college girls.  “Holy shit, are you the Hound?”  The boy looks up at him pretty amazed.  He answers gruffly, “What’s it to you?”

“Man, what an honor, too cool, what are you doing here?  You just took Margaery’s party to another level.”  _What the hells is he going on about?_   “You girls probably don’t even know who he is?” and the boy just smirks at the people milling about who’ve now looked their direction.

Sandor didn’t notice the girls come back until they start playing some pop or whatever. He can tell the little bird is probably now beyond her three drink max and probably has the _ever-charming_ Margaery to thank for that. Looks like the girls got too hot, and Sansa has stripped down to her tank and those blasted tiny shorts with her copper hair cascading around her.  _Gods she’s a sweet, perfect thing._

As sweet and innocent as he knows her to be around him, he can’t turn away when he sees her toss her hair with her hand and move her whole body so seductively, emphasizing all her little curves and shaking her other finger at one of the other girls in a coy fashion before grinding up on her.  _Fuck that’s hot._   Margaery gives her a little play push behind her to join in, but this causes her to lose her balance a little.

The pretty boy takes this as his opportunity to interject, and Sandor can’t blame him, he held himself back from rushing to pick her up completely himself to make sure she didn’t fall.  Sansa doesn’t really notice the male presence as she saves herself, raising her hands up and cheerfully shouting, “Yay!” and then posing her hands to take a bow.  She’s pulled out of her actions as the boy comes up behind her and places one hand on her hips and wraps his other arm around her midsection.

Sandor immediately tenses up, not liking this one bit, especially since the boy’s whispering something in her ear.  Evidently, this has a sobering effect on the little bird because she jumps out of his grasp, stumbling to turn around, and then looks at him with a furrowed brow, “Harry? You’re here?”  _Shit, she knows this boy._   “Yes, Lady Sansa, I’m here for you,” and the lying pile of shit grabs her hand to kiss it like some fucking prince. 

Worried the little bird is going to fall for the bastard, he’s surprised at her reaction, she snaps her hand out of his, and he can barely hear her say, “Please, Harry, don’t.  I think I’ve had enough dancing.  I guess I’ll sit down,” and he can see her scanning the room and he hopes it’s for him.  He could have some fun putting this bugger in his place.

Probably not expecting to be rebuffed in front of everyone, the boy advances on her, grabbing both her arms, “Sansa, my lady, let’s get you a drink, it’ll do you good,” and starts to usher her out of the room.  Her eyes go wide and he can see the panic in them, he needs to step in now.  

In a quick stride, Sandor’s behind Harry whose sole focus is on Sansa, so he’s no doubt surprised when Sandor’s heavy hand rests on his shoulder in a crushing grip.  He warns him, “Boy, I’d let her go if I were you, you don’t want to fuck up that pretty face of yours.”

At this, he can smell the bastard’s fear quicken, knowing it’s the Hound behind him, and it’s refreshing almost.  _It’s been too long since he’s kicked some ass._   Letting go of Sansa, Harry turns to him, begging, “I’m sorry, you don’t understand…”  _Could this be that ex of hers?_ Sandor just grabs him by his arms like the little shit had Sansa, slams him up against the wall and gets in his face with his best malevolent grin, teeth bared and scars twisting.  This time, he crushes his arms in his grip, so he’ll have bruises like the bastard could’ve given the little bird.  

Moving his right hand up to squeeze some of the air out of his throat, Sandor rasps in a low, confident tone, only hinting at the rage inside him, “You just push girls around, don’t you?  Take what you want from them whether they want it or not, leaving them to deal with your shit.  You’re fucking scum and I should end your life right now.”  Harry just whimpers like a fucking toddler with his eyes closed, tears starting to streak down his face.  This is probably the most traumatic thing to ever happen to the little shit, and Sandor knows he now has disgust written on his face.

So focused on his task, he can barely make out the little bird pulling on his arm saying, “don’t hurt him” or some shit.  Why does she have to worry about this bastard, who’d take advantage of her in a minute?  He just tries to shake her off, not losing his grip on Harry.  He’ll deal with the Sansa fallout later.

Sandor raises his voice, “Look me in the eye, you sick fuck.  Pretend to be a man for once in your gods-damned life.” Out of fear for his life, the boy opens his eyes barely, so Sandor continues firmly though not as loud, “Now listen closely, boy, you will never touch or look at or talk to or have any contact whatsoever with Sansa from this day on, is that clear?” The boy just stares at him, scared.  “You better fucking nod or something, you idiot,” he snarls.  Then, the boy’s chin is trembling up and down, in a continual nod.

Sandor threatens, “You can imagine the consequences if you ever cross a line with her again.” Then he grabs the boy by the collar, drags him to the front door, and unceremoniously tosses him down the few front steps out the door, “Fuck off!”  Sandor slams the door back and turns to face what’s next. One of the boys there actually starts a slow clap, much to the evident amusement of the group.

Not seeing Sansa but catching sight of Margaery going into the kitchen, he grabs her arm, trying to not be too harsh since she’s the little bird’s friend, and inquires, “Was that her ex, and why did he call her lady?” 

Intimidated enough to be forthcoming, she answers, “No, that was Harry Hardyng.”  Then, with a curious look on her face, she answers his second question, “You do know that Sansa’s a lady right, like an actual lady?”

_Shit, she’s a fucking real lady!_   Not wanting to dwell, he might as well fish for more information, “Okay, do you have a name for that ex of hers?  The one from the gossip.”

“You mean Joffrey Baratheon, the king of douchebags and also our wonderful prince?”  Margaery actual gives him a little smirk at this, and he thinks she might be alright.   _But really, the fucking prince is her ex?_

“If you could do me a favor and go find Sansa, I’m sure there’s something wrong, and she won’t want to see me, I have a feeling, or she’d be here.”

“Already on it, she’s on my balcony, maybe wait a bit and then join us.  You put on quite a display in there, and I think it shocked the poor baby.” 

“Okay, but don’t drown her with any more liquor,” he gives her a look to know he’s serious and sets in to wait for Sansa again today.  _Gods if he could only have some whiskey without making things worse._

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: End of Party

The fresh air out on Margaery’s balcony helped Sansa put the incident in perspective, but it was so crazy in there.  It was like déjà vu when Harry grabbed her arms, but then Sandor was there, but then it was like not him.  And everything started to spin, and she realized those tequila shots had not been a good idea.

“Sansa, are you okay? Here, take a hit.” Margaery comes out after getting her some water and a joint.  “Sandor said he’d wait downstairs for a bit, then come see you.”

Thinking of him makes her want to crawl up into a ball, he was so scary, holding Harry by the throat with that horrible smile on his face, as if he liked it.  “I thought he was going to kill Harry,” she whimpers.

Margaery sighs, somehow nothing makes her lose her cool, “It’s okay, he was just threatening Harry, albeit impressively.”

“Why am I the only one freaking out?  I just can’t get it out of my mind, him doing that to Harry.” 

Margaery is starting to seem frustrated, “It happened to you, it’s okay to be upset.  Do you like Harry or something?”

“No, I don’t at all, it’s just I didn’t expect Sandor to go so far.”  Taking her offerings, Sansa takes a deep pull off the joint to calm her anxiety.

“I think he thought Harry was your ex.  Turn, let me give you a massage, you’re too tense.” 

Sansa turns for Margaery who starts to gently rub her shoulders, “Like why would he think it was Joffrey? As if he would be here?”

“I don’t know, that’s just what he asked.  Feeling better, love?”

Margaery is relaxing her every bone, and she just wants to melt into a puddle on the little bench.  “I could fall asleep right now, but I did promise Sandor he wouldn’t have to carry me home.”  Margaery puts her head down on her shoulder, “You can just stay here.”

Sansa considers it, but as intense as everything was, she couldn’t just abandon him could she?  How many more times can she shut him out before he’s lost to her?  “I need to see Sandor, if he’s still here.”

Margaery gets up and pets her hair, saying with a shrug, “I’m going to make sure everything’s okay downstairs, kay?”

Sansa looks down the street with her arms crossed on the railing and her chin resting thereon.   _Gods why can’t things be simpler._   This is probably going to blow up on the gossip sites, too.   _Slut Sansa strikes again, breaking poor boy’s hearts._

She hears Sandor come out on the balcony, and he tosses her something, “Your shirt,” and he stands on the other side, resting his elbows on the rail.  She gladly puts her top back over her cami, it was a bit nippy out here now that she was sobering up.

After a few minutes, he clears his throat and plainly states, “Didn’t mean to scare you, but that’s just how I am, better you know now.”  _I guess that’s his apology_ , she thinks.  She doesn’t know what she wants from him really and doesn’t respond causing the silence to stretch.

Letting out some of his frustration, he continues, “Hells, little bird, talk to me.  You want me to be your friend and you drag me here, but then you just shut down whenever shit doesn’t follow your perfect plan.” 

_How is this her fault?_  Downcast, she mutters, “I can’t help it that Harry was here and came on to me.”

Sandor chuckles sourly, “Yes, poor little bird,” and then sneers, “Maybe stop being so polite to every asshole and try saying ‘Fuck off’ every now and then.”

He knows she doesn’t use that language, “That wouldn’t be proper.”

He just barks back, “Proper isn’t gonna save you.”  Then he turns to her, and now she can see the scars again, the ones that had turned him even more frightening as he held Harry by the throat.  She can feel a slight tremble again, just thinking about it. “Who’s this Harry?” he asks.

She looks back at the street to try and block that image of him so livid yet with a strange joy in his expression out of her mind.  “Harry’s that guy I told you about, that my uncle tried to set me up with.” 

He seems to recognize, “Oh, he shouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

Without thinking, she responds, “That’s an understatement.”  She pauses, “Anyways, Margaery said you thought he was my ex?” She can’t imagine what having Joff show up like that would be like, and a shiver goes through her at the thought of him here.

Sounding a little less certain now, he shuffles his feet a bit, looking down at the street from the railing, “Yeah, might be why I wanted to make myself clear to the boy.” 

They both stare out at the night now, feeling a peace settle between them in the darkness of it and the silence between passing cars.  She looks over at him now, leaning her head against the railing and just taking him in as he is now, just Sandor, and finds herself breathing out in a whisper, “You won’t hurt me.”  It’s a statement but a question, too, because he was so violent earlier it scared her. 

She’s not sure he heard her, but then Sandor turns toward her and sinks to the floor to sit, sprawled out on the rug, and mutters, “No, little bird, never,” though he sounds so defeated like he thinks she’ll always be scared of him.   _Gods, she can’t be mad at him and distant when he’s so vulnerable with her!_  

Sansa crosses her legs on the little bench and motions for him to approach, “Come here, with your back to me.”  Giving her a scowl with his one brow furrowed, he hesitantly crawls over as if testing the waters, and sits on the floor in front her, resting his back on the bench. He tenses and pulls away though when she places her hands on his shoulders, “What are you doing, Sansa?”

“Just massaging your back, grumpy, Margaery did mine, and I feel better.”  He leans back but continues, “I’m fine already and I don’t know what damage you’ll do with your little bird hands.” _So ornery to still protest after he’s already relented._

Putting all her strength into squeezing his hard shoulder muscles, Sansa then pushes into the muscle with her elbow to loosen him up, earning her a startled grunt from him that puts a little smile on her face.  She doesn’t feel as intimidated by him now, so she remembers her courtesies, “Thank you though for jumping in when you did, I shouldn’t have let myself get so drunk, I guess.”

“It’s not your fault, little bird, he just saw an opportunity.” 

Finished, she gives him a little hug around the shoulders, telling him, “You’re the best.”

Sandor just snorts, “Scared of me one minute, the next I’m getting a back massage.  I can’t keep up.” 

She gives him a playful slap on the shoulder and sits back against the pillow, feeling like she can voice some of what she felt earlier, “You were really violent, Sandor, I’ve never seen anything like that before, and everything started spinning so I just ran away.”

“You looked like you were panicking, and I didn’t like how he laid his hands on you, so Harry got thrown out on his ass.”  Sandor smirks, pleased with himself she can tell.  Still, a part of her is actually relieved to know she won’t have to worry about him again.

She rubs her shoulders, not wanting to dwell, “Yeah, and I was having so much fun, too. Margaery’s cool, huh?”

He shrugs, “She’s alright, I just feel old here.”

She points out to him, “You already said you aren’t near forty, so you’re not really old and can’t be much more than thirty, Sandor.  And that’s all the guessing you’re getting.” She tried to sound assertive.

He seems resigned to admit, “31.” 

“You’re like 12 years older than me, can you believe it?  You don’t seem that much older,” she ponders.

He chuckles, “Sometimes it’s not that hard to believe.  Good math, little bird,” he turns and winks at her.  She just gives him another playful pat, with a little giggle, _Gods he’s always teasing me._ “I feel more mature than you sometimes, ya know.”  He just shakes his head, turning back around, resting his head on top of the bench.

An idea springs to her, and she asks excitedly, “When’s your birthday?”

Not moving, he snarls, “Gods, little bird, so demanding.  I tell you one thing, and you’re on to another.”

Feeling a bit daring at the end of the night, she kids, “I guess I’ll have to pull your shirt off for more answers then,” and goes to pull at the shirt’s neck, which he blocks. So she reaches for the hem, toppling over him onto the rug.

He pushes her hands away, though she did expose some of that hard stomach of his during her attack, “As amusing as that would be, you’ll end up ripping your precious gift, wouldn’t want that little bird.”  She just pouts at him to which he sighs and turns to his right, “Ready to head back?”  She feels a strange fear to move now that she feels safe.  “I don’t know, Sandor.  Are you going to leave?” and she hates how weak she sounds.

Thankfully, he’s patient with her, “Take some slow, deep breaths, and focus on something.” For a moment he’s thinking and then says, “like Lady, focus on her, and then we’ll go see her together, okay?”

“Okay,” she closes her eyes and focuses on Lady’s soft fur under her hand as she feels the cool night air fill her lungs.  She repeats this a few times before she feels herself calm.

Back downstairs, she complains, “Ugh I hate putting heels back on at the end of the night. Are you sure that carry service isn’t available, Sandor?”

He gruffly replies, “It was never an offer, and you wouldn’t have liked being hauled like a sack of potatoes through town.”  She laughs at that image, maybe she’s catching onto his humor a little. “Gods, your charms are unparalleled,” she snarks.

“Margaery, we’re off. Thanks!  It was lovely, and I hate I spoiled it.” They kiss each other’s cheek in a little embrace. 

Charming as always, she brushes it off, “Oh, no bother, what’s a party without a little excitement. I just hope Joff doesn’t catch wind of it.”  Sansa stiffens immediately, “Right, bye then.”  She didn’t want Sandor to know any more about him, _thanks Marge!_  

“Bye you two!” she waves with a friendly smile.   _Gods she makes me feel like a hot mess with all my drama tonight.  At least I can draw better than her._

Feeling a little clumsy and dizzy still after everything, she feels bad for Sandor that she’s clutching his arm nearly the entire way home.  It’s all the old sidewalks, making it even harder to walk in heels.

First thing back in her apartment, she goes to chuck those shoes off and Lady takes the opportunity to lick her face as she’s bending over to undo the straps. Done, she drops to her knees to give Lady a big hug and kisses, cooing, “Who’s my Lady husky?”

Sandor offers to take Lady out quickly for her, _Gods he’s a lifesaver!_ As he deposits the dog back inside, Sansa’s already in her pajamas, and Sandor raises his hand and nods to go.  She whines, “Sandor, can’t you say goodbye?!”  She traipses over, but he’s prepared this time, making her give him a side hug, so she just giggles and then a yawn escapes her.  “Goodnight, big man.”  He says, “Night, little bird,” with a hint of a smile in his eyes and heads off into the night. 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV: Picnic

During the week after the party, Sandor met up with Sansa for what she called a picnic. She’d texted him to bring Stranger and Tess to their spot in the park since she needed a study break. So he stopped by the café for coffee, pastry, and some of that bush tea she likes.

When he gets there, she has a little basket and is spread out on a blanket with some of her green food out like she’s in one of her fucking tales. Still, he’s got to hand it to her that she at least starts every day like a cheerful little bird till shit happens.

Sandor unleashes the dogs, and snorts as Sansa is fussing with them to stay out of her picnic. _Fuck, she’s just unreal cute_ , and he just chuckles at her, earning him a little glare. Stranger’s become more tolerant of Sansa over the last month but snarls at her now, so he just shoves him off her little blanket with a “get.”

“Grabbed this at the café on the way,” he hands her the bag and tea and lowers himself on the grass.

Taking a sip, she smiles prettily, “Thank you Sandor, you didn’t have to bring anything, you’re too good to me.  Sandor, I got this little picnic blanket for here since we come so often. Please sit with me.” Of course, the little bird won’t stand for him not sitting on her little blanket, like it makes any difference.

Sandor quirks his eyebrow, “You are a little lady after all, perched here on your blanket – what makes it a _picnic_ blanket?” She just giggles, good to see her happy.

“Well, this side,” she turns it over, “resists moisture so it doesn’t ruin the soft blanket part.” She’s still smiling, and of course she has a special blanket for sitting on the ground. He just chuckles at how silly she can be. 

She goes on to ramble about her classes, “Yes, so I have to rewrite my paper for my language class due to improper grammar – can you believe that, me?  My teacher even requires us to address him as Dr. Stannis Baratheon always, can you believe that?  It’s like he thinks he’s the king of grammar or something. Such a… uhh,” the little bird gives out a little sound of frustration.

“Sounds like he’s got a few sticks up his ass,” he rasps.

She purses her lips, “I guess so,” she laughs. “So I’ll start on that tonight, I look forward to only having just art classes and well a few business classes, I guess, after next semester.”

Deciding he might as well bring it up, he scratches his stubble and takes a sip of coffee, “You know if you finish that and you aren’t doing anything with Margaery this weekend, you could maybe come help me work with Tess,” he tried to mention casually.

Sansa seized on this immediately, “At your house, really, Sandor?  I’d love to see your house, and I already said I’d help with Tess, I can’t wait!” Then that opened up to everything else they could do this weekend – movies to watch, what they’ll eat, and on it went – I guess she thinks she’ll just move in.

“Will I be able to get you to leave?” he jokes.

“Okay, grumpy, ha ha,” she fake laughs and pushes his buttons with that horrible nickname she hasn’t dropped.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” he scowls.

“Calling you what?” she plays innocent.

“You know what, girl,” he glares over at her.

She lets out a little laugh, “You mean you don’t like being called grumpy?” and then chirps away on something else, enjoying her little victory over him. He watches the dogs play which is mostly Tess annoying the other two who’d be happy to just lay on the grass with each other at this point.

Sansa giggles at Tess’s attempts and calls her over, lying back with the puppy in her arms. Tess then starts trying to eat her hair, and he finds his lips wanting to curl into a smile. “Go get Sandor, Tess,” and Sansa nudges her into his lap, and the pup who’s growing fast looks up at him with a little bark.  With a little “aww,” Sansa pulls out her phone aiming it at him, “Smile,” and he impulsively bats the phone out of her hands. 

Startled, Sansa peeps, “What was that for?”

He just pets Tess, looking down at her, and snarls, “No pictures,” and lies back on the blanket with the pup crawling on him to get to his own hair.  _Thank the gods for dogs, they’re just simple creatures like him._  He feels Sansa move closer to him on her side, petting Tess on him, and gently trying to extricate her from his hair with a softly spoken, “Sorry.” He doesn’t really care about his hair; still, his breath catches and he feels paralyzed with her so near like this and that little soft word. It’s moments like this, like when she was rubbing his shoulders the other night, that he is so confused where he stands with her and what she wants from him.

No one touches him, but Sansa, she is crossing that line little by little, not knowing she’s making him crazy. Trying to relax, he waves his hands over little Tess and she jumps up to play-bite his fingers, making Sansa laugh a bit. Then she hums as her fingers run through the tips of his hair to fix it, he guesses. _Should he just surrender and take her in his arms right now? Gods, why doesn't he know shit about what to do with her?_ He just doesn't want her to run from him.

“There,” she sits back up, smiling down at her handiwork. “You do have nice hair really, didn’t think you could get away with it in the military.” She’s twisting her own hair in her fingers now, and her eyes glance over to his right side, “I hate that you lost some of it with the burns.” She gasps before he can say anything and covers her mouth, before timidly saying, “Sorry, Sandor, I didn’t mean to say anything about it.” 

He wants to be mad, but he doesn’t feel any of the old rage, it’s not like she said anything bad. Still playing with Tess and releasing the breath he had instinctively held in, he stays calm, “It’s okay, little bird, don’t know what you’re talking about with hair like yours.” _Shit! What did he just do, bringing up her glorious hair, great, how’s he going to get out of this?_

“What do you mean?” she looks puzzled. Trying to keep his twitch in check, he scratches behind his ear, “You know, your hair’s nice and it’s red.”  _Gods, he sounds like an idiot, the girl must know she has the most beautiful hair in Westeros at least._

“Aw, thanks Sandor. I had thought about dyeing it dark brown for this year.” He snaps back to look at her then, _that’s a dangerous thought, the little bird without her fiery locks!_ He impulsively growls, “Why would you do a thing like that?”

Dazed, she gives him a strange look but shrugs one of her shoulders, tilting her head to that side, “Just for a change to be less recognizable, but I think I’d miss it,” at this she picks up some of her hair and lets it fall in a cascade of copper, watching it herself, a few times.  _She even plays with it, it’s so pretty._ He needs to get off the subject of her hair before he starts running his own hands through it.

Sandor clears his throat, “I was going to run a background check before having you over, but you haven’t told me your last name.”  That was a partial lie, he’d checked her mail after getting her back from the party after the whole “Lady” reveal to confirm, and there it was plain as day, “Lady Sansa Stark,” on a envelope from her mother, he'd assumed. Still, _she hadn’t told him_.  If Elder Brother hadn’t been so specific about not doing a background check, it would be done.

She squints at him with a little laugh, thinking it’s a joke, “What?”

“Just kidding,” he plays it off, “but seriously, your name?”

“You’re not going to google me, are you?” she quirks an eyebrow at him.

He snorts to himself, thinking his background checks are anything but a simple google search. “And find what? Some pillows you made and pictures of Lady?” he messes with her.

“Seriously though, you wouldn’t let me come to your house?” She’s pushing that trust button.

He gruffly responds, “Google me and see if you're still so eager to come to my house, Lady Sansa.” _Gods, he’s fucked it up again._

Her jaw drops, and he can tell she doesn’t know if she should be angry or sorry about her lie of omission since she's always ready to apologize for the smallest thing. “How?” she wonders, barely audible.

He answers still scowling, “I noticed that boy addressed you so, and I asked Margaery, who knew.”

Sansa looks down at her lap with her hands slipping into her hair, “Stark. I just didn’t want to broadcast it, okay?” She starts packing up her little picnic. _Dammit, he’s pushed her too far again._

He closes his hands over hers to stop her, “Hells, girl, stop that.”  Not sure what to say he just goes with some kind of truth, “I’m not much company for a lady, but I won’t treat you any different, so don’t expect me to start calling you my lady and escorting you about.” Then, he adds to reassure her, “No google searches either.”

She looks up at him with those big, blue eyes, and she's so close. He feels a determination to find a way out of this friend zone she’s put him in some day. “Really?” she asks in her soft tone.  _Fuck, he needs to kiss her and since when does he fucking kiss?_

“Yeah,” he lets go of her hands, letting himself brush a bit of her loose hair, and looks to the side on instinct to cover his scarred side.

“Okay, I won’t google you either, Hound,” she winks at him, oblivious. “I guess I’ll see you this weekend, I’m going to have dinner with my uncle Friday.”

“Alright, little bird, don’t let this interrupt your studies.”

“Of course not, I am a responsible adult,” she snips  They pack it up, and he just gives her a little nod goodbye. “Bye Sandor and Tess and Stranger,” the little bird sings, though she’s really just sadly petting Tess. They’re so attached, not good, since I only get a little over six months with her. “We probably need to get something for her adult teeth coming in, Sandor,” she brings up.

“I’ve got it covered, little bird, on your way.” She smiles up at him and turns.

Back at his place, Sandor looks around trying to think what Sansa would see. Not much in the way of decoration, but he could at least make sure it’s cleaned up and orderly. He sets to work trying to make the little living room more than his glorified gaming center.  _Might need to get some of her green food and tea, in case._  Putting up the dishes, he holds up a cup, thinking of having her here with her lilting laugh in his kitchen and the dogs begging for scraps. The thought seems so bright, like she’d breath life into his little space but then just flit away, not sure if he’s ready for this.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: Sandor's House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Video for dog training: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KJZ7rlP77zY
> 
> Seriously watch it - Tess's look-alike, Thunder, is adorably doing basically what I describe here.

“Can’t wait for you to get here, Arya!”  Sansa exclaims after Arya tells her that Mom booked her flight for coming to Maidenpool on their coinciding fall breaks in a few weeks.

“You’re lucky that Bran has something and Dad’s planning to have a business trip that weekend or she would have decided to make it a mother-daughters trip.  Could you imagine?!”  Arya grumbles.

“That would’ve been so fun even though my apartment is too small for the three of us,” she laments, missing her mom, though Arya agreed partly to get away from their mother and because Sansa begged her a few weeks ago when she wasn’t sure Sandor was going to be her friend.

“So what’ll we do there?” Arya asks, and Sansa realizes she hadn’t thought of that yet, and Arya gets bored constantly— _this could be bad._

“Well,” Sansa starts, knowing if Sandor was against the Florian and Jonquil stuff then Arya will be even more adamant, “There’s a cool castle here with an underground dungeon actually, and we can go swim in the Bay or run along the trail out there, and just hang out and stuff, too.”

“Uh, that sounds alright,” Arya seems disinterested.

“Hopefully, you can meet Sandor while you’re here.  I’m going over to help him train a puppy to become a bomb-sniffer today. You two are somewhat alike, ya know?”

“That’s cool. I’ll try and think of some ideas, maybe we can go somewhere even.”  The last thing she needs is Arya planning, they’ll end up bungee jumping or get her car stuck in mud to go to some obscure place.  Things she could live without.  Hopefully, Sandor will agree to meet her sister.

Sansa moves on, “I had dinner with Uncle Petyr last night, and he’s actually supporting me now in this whole swearing off boys thing.  Says he’ll keep my secret from Mom and even help me figure out my future plans. Remember how I told you about mom pushing him to set me up with that Harry boy?”

“Oh yeah, the douchebag. Actually, I’ve been keeping check on some of the gossip shit online after what you told me Joff did.”

Sansa breaks in, “Arya, I told you not to worry about it! There’s no stopping him, it’s better I just fade away.”

Arya snaps back, “Well, if you’ll just listen to me, San, I can explain. You’re not doing a good job of fading away. There’s a video out now from your ‘party’ last weekend showing some guy getting thrown out on his ass and a bunch of shit about you dating two guys at once or something and them fighting over you.”

Sansa whines, feeling defeated, “That’s not true! I’m not dating anyone! I can explain.”

“Well, I don’t care what happened, but I will bet money that someone has shown Joff this video, so keep Lady close is all I’m going to say. I’ll keep you posted if I see anything come up.”

“Oh gods, Arya! What am I going to do? Maybe I should just go back to Winterfell?” she feels herself start to panic. _What does she need to pack?_

“Sansa, chill the fuck out, it’s going to be okay. Is this dude in the video your friend Sandor? He’s like a giant.”

“Yeah, that’s Sandor, the one throwing Harry out, I wasn’t there for that part, it was just so violent, and I kind of freaked out.  He actually thought Harry was maybe my ex after that whole online harassment.”

“Well, you freaking out doesn’t surprise me. It was pretty awesome though, and I’d love to see him do that to shithead Joffrey. I just wish the audio was better on this, if I meet him I’ll have to find out what he said to Harry to make him cry like a baby.”

Sansa tries to block out that memory and focus on the issue at hand, “Do you think Sandor on the video might make Joff think twice about doing anything to me?” 

“I don’t know, time will tell.” Arya is hardly the most reassuring person.

“Okay,” she sighs, knowing she’ll be watching her back more closely now. 

“Just call if you need anything, see you soon, San.”

“Bye Arya, love you!” Sansa replies.

“You too, bye” Arya answers, and that’s pretty good for her, so it makes Sansa smile.

She sends Sandor a text to see if she can head over and to give her the address. Silly man, being so serious about having her to his house. A background check even, she has a weird feeling he was half-serious about that, almost asking permission. _Hate to have anyone searching for skeletons in my closet._  Arya would be pissed at him if she had mentioned that. She puts an outfit together, thinking casual and good for playing with the dogs, and then pulls some ribbon out to dress up his housewarming present.

* * *

She almost missed the house, it’s set in from the road with a little hidden drive, but she walks up with Lady to the adorable, little pink house. She loves it, with its neat shrubs on either side of the door. This must be how it looked when Sandor bought it, she couldn’t imagine him adding a welcome mat and a window box. She grins to herself, thinking about how he wanted to change the color. He’d end up painting it gray or some awful dark color. Thank goodness for the historic ordinance.

Mustering up a strong knock to the door, Sandor is there almost too fast to open the door in that her hand is still up for another knock.  She looks up to him, fashioning a smile, not hard considering how amusing his behavior is, “Hey Sandor!” and sees Stranger come up to peek around his master. He looks nervous actually and just nods to her, not moving, but at least he’s not scowling for once.

“Are you going to welcome me in?” Sansa smiles, amused still.

“Right, come in,” and steps back, holding the door open. He must not have people over often or ever, she thinks, considering his odd manners, but at least he’s trying.

Sansa tentatively steps in, waiting for Sandor to close the door before she unleashes Lady. Stranger comes up to Lady, nuzzling her as if he wants to show her around himself, _so sweet those two_.

With his hand rubbing the back of his neck, not looking at her, Sandor points around the house, “The entrance and living room, beyond the stair there is the kitchen. There’s a bathroom in the back, off the kitchen, and one upstairs with the two bedrooms.”

Placing her hand on Sandor’s arm to reassure him, she tells him, “It’s a charming house, Sandor, and I like how it’s set back from the street. Here, I brought you a house plant. Aloe is great if you have a burn or really anything.”

Taking the plant from her and just holding it in one of his hands, he looks at it, appearing befuddled, and answers her, “I know it’s not much, and yeah, that’s part of why I got this house,” and shrugs. It’s so neat being here, seeing him in his own place, disarmed.  She doesn’t think she’s even seen him without shoes on before now—oh wait, there was that time he made her go into the bay with him.

She lifts her palms up, casually, “Why have more house than you need really?” He just gives her a look like he’s not buying it, and for once she’s glad he’s not saying anything. “I know I grew up on an estate, but still, I kind of like having my little apartment. Simpler,” she smiles.  _How could she forget he knows about that now?_

She looks around the living room, at least it has the old fireplace but still it’s rather stark, just a couch, table and TV setup really – oh, he has a gaming console like Arya. “What do you play? My sister has one of these,” she asks, walking over to his system.

He looks at her but then away, “Uh, a few different games like Nomad, and I’ve played some of the Others series.”

“Cool, haven’t heard of that series, but the Nomad one may be the game my sister is always playing online.”

Sandor just nods, his lips pulled together, and looks around the room, finally setting the plant down on his table.  _Why is this so awkward all of sudden—the silence is deafening?!_

Luckily the gaming made her remember, “Oh, my sister’s coming for fall break in a few weeks.”

“Is that the week I’m at the isle? I think I’m taking a couple dogs I’ve finished training down to King’s Landing the weekend after, just waiting on the paperwork. They’re out at the kennels there. That’s good she’ll be here.”

“But I was hoping you’d get to meet her! Can’t you take the dogs another weekend?” She feels frustrated now, _why can’t things just work out?_

There’s that scowl of his, “I don’t know. What does it matter?” and he starts to walk off toward the kitchen, so she follows him in there. Maybe she should just let it be, it must have put him on edge.

Sansa looks around at the trim cabinets and neat table, spartan but appropriate, “What a nice eat-in kitchen! They did a really good job updating this room.”

“I updated this part, little bird,” he looks at her steadily, his arms crossed and leaning on his counter, a glass of water now in hand.

Biting her lip a little flustered now that she’s here, “I just thought you bought it like this, it’s nice, I like the colors. Navy is classic.”  _How did_ _he get so intimidating all of a sudden?_

In that same deep, level tone, he pushes her, “Done looking around, little bird? Tess is waiting.”

“Do you mind if I see the upstairs?” she asks, just curious.

His expression is blank, but he pushes off the counter to lead the way. “Careful with the stairs, I have to watch my head,” he points out. Walking into the room above the kitchen, she notices he closes a closet before she steps through the door.

“My room,” he states. She’d already stepped in but freezes mid-stride; she hadn’t thought about how she’d just asked him to see his bedroom.  _Gods, Sansa!_  Still, her eyes betray her, looking about to gather any clues to better puzzle out this man. Very simple, dark beams on the ceiling and plain bedding, but it’s light and comfortable though a bit austere.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to impose, Sandor, not thinking,” she tries to apologize, and turns around to leave, but she can’t help but note the shotgun over the door. He saw where her eyes went and chuckles in that sour way he has, “No worries, always good to have a shotgun handy.” She looks over to see him start smirking at her—she must have blushed!  _Great,_   _now she's the awkward one_. At least that puts him more at ease.

He shows her the other bedroom, which is just an office and weight room for him, and also the basic full bath. Everything’s so clean and sparse – did he throw everything in his closet? Her apartment must make him dizzy with all her colors and décor. She just wishes she had a paintbrush in hand to paint a mural or something because these walls are calling out for it.

Back downstairs, he asks, “Ready for Tess?” and puts his boots on by the back door in the kitchen. Stranger and Lady perk up and head over to the door, their wagging tails hitting Sandor in the face. “No, you two are staying in here.”

“Okay!” she says, smiling at the sight. Outside, he has a nice walled yard that wraps around the side of the house to the back where some kennels are set up for about four dogs max. Who knew there’d be this little green space back in here? This part of Maidenpool isn’t as dense though.

Sandor lets Tess out of her pen, and she runs straight to her, melting her heart. Sansa drops to her knees to give her a proper petting, and Tess gives her kisses in return. “Enough of that,” Sandor asserts though without menace. She does need to show Sandor she can be serious, too.

Standing back up, she looks down at Tess, “So what do you need to learn today, little one?”

Sandor’s throwing some boards up over some tires, “Working on her balance first today. Then we can do some basic searches. It’s important to start early with the bomb dogs to sit when they find their target and not scratch.” He tosses her the leash for Tess, and she puts in on her, trying to be more disciplined.

Sandor instructs her, “Alright, lead her up over the boards, it’s not going to be easy for her to climb some of it, but don’t help her. She’s smart and she’ll figure it out.” Sansa leads her over to the setup for Tess, loosely holding the leash as she pads around to find her way. Sandor is throwing a ball back and forth against the wall.

“What are you doing? Tess keeps looking over at you, and it’s messing her up,” she says frustrated that he’s not focused on their charge. Her heart breaks when Tess whimpers as she falls off balance and has to start over.

“She’s been doing this and getting better, but I’m providing a distraction to make it more like a real scenario.” 

“I think it’s too hard for her,” she argues.

At that, she gets a little glare, and he snarls, “I know what I’m doing, Sansa, it’s good for her to fail some, she’ll learn from that. She’s got to be ready by one year old to start work. Do you want her to fail then?”

“No,” she pouts, feeling sad that Tess will leave them. Looking down at her, she gives the puppy some words of encouragement to continue. After a few tries, Tess gets to the top of the structure and sniffs around wagging her tail. Sansa feels so proud of her, and Sandor walks over, hand outstretched with a treat for her. 

“Sit,” which Tess obeys and then she gets her treat. “Good job, Tess,” Sandor rasps softly with a slight grin at the pup, petting her all over with his big hands, and little Tess is loving it, responding with licks and little barks. It’s so sweet to see them like this. She kind of sees why he’s not always affectionate with Tess now, so that it’s a reward, too. 

“Yes, good job Tess,” Sansa reaches over to pet Tess, too, looking up at Sandor with a smile. He just nods at her, letting go of Tess, “Now get her back down, so we can move on.” She just gives him a happy nod back, “Okay, big man!” Then, to Tess, sweetly, “Careful Tess, let’s get back down so we can get more treats from Sandor!”

Sandor dismantles some of the structure he put together for the search phase, starting to break a sweat in the heat of the sun. “I’m just using jerky right now, but I’ll move on to more difficult scents in a few months. Take her inside for a moment.” Sansa does as asked, watching him hide a piece of jerky from the window and then motion her out. _Gods, he’s so serious, isn’t he?_  

Sandor takes the leash from her and tells her to go stand over on one of the boards, the opposite side from the jerky.  Walking over with Tess, she heads to her first and is about to sit down when Sandor corrects her, “No.” Puzzled at first, then Tess moves on until she’s at the tire with the treat hidden and starts to bark at it, reaching up to paw at the area. “Sit,” Sandor commands, and then Tess obeys as he fishes out the treat for her. They run a few of these tests, and the little lab is getting a lot better at focusing on the goal and not getting distracted by Sansa.

“Gods, I feel filthy,” she laments, and Tess has dirt all over her legs, too, from the dusty tires and stuff. Sandor is already turning on the hose by the back door. “Bring her over here,” he smirks at her.  _What does he find so amusing?_

Rinsing off Tess, Sandor playfully sprays her on the shin as if on accident. “Sandor!” she reproaches. “What? You’re filthy, little bird,” he grins, and she squeals and runs away as he directs the spray back at her. “You cruel man!” she whines from a safe distance but is already trying to form some plan to get back at him.

Apparently feeling bad, he sets the hose down, “I’m putting it down, you’re safe now, Sansa,” with his hands up. _Can he never say sorry?_

“You’re not going to spray me again?” she pouts but starts to walk back over. “No, little bird, I’ll get you a towel, okay?” He goes to walk back in the door, but she’s faster and rushes to the grab the hose nozzle. Seeing her intent, he fails to block her but tries to wrench the hose from her hands. If she can only decompress the trigger mechanism, there! And water’s spraying everywhere but at least he’s getting wet now, too.

She laughs, “You’re filthy, too, Sandor, and I won’t let you inside in this state!” He relents some, though barking, “it’s my fucking house,” letting her get him all wet, even though she knows he could have stopped her with more force. “You asked for it, big man,” she continues to laugh as he’s turning the hose off to stop her.

“Thanks, little bird, I needed a shower,” he winks at her, looking down her form. It’s at this point she realizes she’s soaked to the bone now herself! Sandor starts to chuckle at her, and she can feel her warm cheeks betraying her. She just looks down, feeling pitiful.

“Hey, how about a towel and some dry clothes? Or at least a dry shirt?” She just nods, looking back up at him, content at the fact she got him soaked, too.

Back inside, his laundry is off his kitchen next to the bathroom and he hands her the wolf shirt she gave him last week, now clean, offering to put her clothes in the dryer. Cringing at the inappropriateness of what she’s about to ask, she can’t help it, “Do you think I could borrow some boxer shorts to wear while my clothes dry?” Sansa thinks she almost made him blush, as he looks about the laundry sheepish before handing her a pair, not looking at her.

Clearing his throat, he tries to regain composure, “Just throw your clothes in the dryer and start it up when you get out.” He starts pulling his wet shirt over his head and she takes that are her cue to retreat to the bathroom. 

_Gods, I hate taking off wet clothes!_ She internally complains, trying not to think of the quite possibly naked Sandor on the other side of the door. _He is so ripped, I just want to draw his muscles one day._ Her stomach starts to rumble on her, _and now I’m hungry, too!_

Coming out of the bathroom, Sandor’s pulling some food out in the kitchen with just a new pair of pants on, making her swallow hard. All kinds of fruit and a pre-made salad along with a sandwich that looks like it’s for him. “Here’s some food if you’re hungry. I can make tea, too, if you want,” he just points out, obviously not trying to make a big deal about it.

“You didn’t have to do all this, Sandor, thank you. I think I will have some tea. Did you get the salad for me?”

“It’s nothing,” he shrugs and heats the kettle up, pulling out a cup and tea bag for her. _Is that the bush tea? Did he get that for her, too, maybe he really did like it?_

Sitting at his table in his wolf shirt, tea in hand, she marvels at the lovely day with the sun streaming in behind her and bringing a heady warmth to her back. Lady’s head is in her lap while Tess and Stranger are vying for Sandor’s attention as he finishes off his sandwich. Catching her gaze, he stops and puts his sandwich down, looking her over in a strange way. Noticing a bit of mustard on his chin, she giggles cheerfully and reaches over, napkin in hand, to catch it, but he grabs her wrist with a suddenly stern look falling over his face.

Trying to play it off, she smiles, “Sandor, the mustard on your chin.” He loosens his grip, taking her napkin to apply it to his face. “Got it, little bird. Good work with Tess, she needed it,” and picks his sandwich back up to finish it.

Though she’s unclear about his mood, she feels exuberant at his praise. “It was so fun, and she did such a good job! Ready to continue our Valyria marathon?”

He just smirks and nods to indulge her, “At least I won’t have to sit on your sad excuse for a couch.” She sighs, “It’s cute and yellow!” He jabs back, “and it barely supports my ass.” It’s nice to laugh together, and Sansa gets ready for a night in with all her puppies and Sandor, who’s kind of a puppy himself.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love!!!
> 
> All this belongs to GRRM. Getting stoked for Season 5 to start, even if my favorite has departed - will probably roast some chicken for the first episode though :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mini Sandor POV, then switches to Sansa POV  
> I accidentally started writing in her POV for this chapter when I was without my computer, so sorry for the weird break, but I like having a little bit of Sandor’s thoughts so I didn’t rewrite that part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Learning to Dance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=klKcQt_awWw
> 
> Taylor Swift’s “22”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AgFeZr5ptV8  
> For some reason, I imagine her dancing with Taylor Swift's enthusiasm and slight awkwardness :)

**Sandor**

His arms are loaded down with groceries as he enters her apartment—the little bird had suggested taking two trips! It’s just groceries, he can handle it. She just shook her head at him, laughing at him with about four bags per arm, and these are her ‘reusable’ bags of course. Don’t know why she had to get so much food anyways, something about juicing and snacks for tonight. He should’ve brought some of the fruit he got her last week since she hadn’t eaten much of it.

“I’ll go ahead and get my steak cooked, so you don’t have to, Sansa, and then you can do whatever you need to,” he lets her know as she puts everything up, giving him a nod. She even made him get a grass-fed steak and went on and on about how it’s more natural for the cow. They were in her brown store, so there weren’t really any cheaper options anyways. 

Ever since he had her over to train Tess with him, she’s come over to his place almost every other day to help out. It’s good for Tess to have more distractions and people involved, so it’s really been an asset, or at least that’s what he keeps telling himself. He’s barely got a raid in this week on his game, and his party is considering kicking him out after he had gone part-time and is barely making those times.

Just like he had anticipated, her there in his house makes it feel like more than just some place he lives like an actual home almost, and when she leaves, she takes that light with her. If only he could keep her there all the time, maybe she’d consider renting out the other bedroom after her lease is up, he’d even let her keep all her _eclectic_ furniture. That’s a ridiculous thought though, when she could have her own space why would she live in his small house and…yeah that’s never happening. 

They’re back at her place tonight, partly because he was upset when she left his house so late with just Lady escorting her. He had offered to drive her home, but she said she’d keep her phone in hand and Lady close and let him know when she got home. She almost forgot to let him know, too, and he was about to walk out and look for her. He should’ve insisted. _Hells, this girl is turning him soft._

* * *

**Sansa**  

Sansa roasted some vegetables, which she put over salad greens for her dinner and shared it with Sandor. They sat down at the little table, and she tries to start conversation, “Good training with Tess today. I can tell she’s improved just this week.”

“Yeah, she has,” he agrees, and Sandor cuts off pieces of fat off his ribeye for the dogs.

“You like the veggies?” she ventures.

He looks over at her, “They’re good, different but good.”

She smiles at this little praise. “I might actually be improving your diet,” she jokes. He seemed to like this more than the tofu he had barely touched that first time. With his typical scowl in place, he gives her a questioning look.

“Lighten up, big man, something upsetting you?” she prods.

“No, why does something always have to be wrong?” he furrows his brow defensively, looking toward the wall so mostly his good side shows.  _Why does he seem to do that more often lately?_

“Ooo, I have an idea of something to loosen you up!” she remembers suggesting to teach him to dance.  _Crap, how am I going to convince him?!_

“What? Grass, little bird?” he asks unconcerned.

“Um, remember at the party before all the Harry drama when you mentioned you’ve never danced?” Not answering, he looks at her suspicious and alert now. She goes on, “Well, I offered to teach you, and we should dance. I’ll make it really easy and it’ll be fun, I promise!”  she tries to project her most hopeful expression, smiling openly.

He takes a deep breath, giving her a hard stare, “Not tonight, not enough room here.”  _Oh, he thinks he can just shrug it off like that! Not even!_

She asserts, chin up, “Why not? I dance in her all the time, I’ll have you know.” At this, he looks around, seemingly contemplating something, probably trying to come up with another excuse. She pushes him, “What are you afraid of? Embarrassing yourself in front of me and the dogs? Or is it just too much work and you’re tired?” It’s got to be a challenge or competition to motivate this man.

Angry at first, he then sizes her up with a sneer, “What’s in it for me?” _Add negotiation to that list, gods!_

With a smart tone, she answers, “Other than learning to dance, which is awesome, what do want? A week of bear claws and coffee?” she smiles.

“I already have that pretty easily.” He tilts his head to the side and rubs under his chin, “Might go for a joint and back rub after this _dancing_ you’ll put me through but…” he trails off shaking his head, lips pulled tight.  _He said dancing like one would imminent torture…a back rub??? How odd but no big deal._

Countering to settle this, “We can smoke a bowl on the roof, which is even better,” looking down at the table, “and a massage, and you’ll have fresh-baked brownies…is that enough? It’s really not that big a deal, don’t worry, you’re in good hands here.”

“Oh, is that so?” he smirks.

“Yes, Sandor, I’m trained in dance. I did ballet before my accident. I was really too tall anyways,” she looks down, trying to shrug it off.

“Accident?” he questions.

“Yeah, I broke my ankle and big toe last year. Was on crutches for several weeks.” 

He gives her an intense look as if trying to read through her eyes, “Sure it was an accident?”

She sighs, “Don’t. It was actually my fault, I fell bad during a performance, and there’s no real recovery.”  _He doesn’t need to know I had been drinking and got kicked out._

He softens then, looking her in the eyes with his sad dog eyes, “That’s awful, little bird.”

“Yeah,” she gets up and picks up their plates to take to the kitchen, “I was distracted, I guess.” She keeps to herself how, in a way, it was the worst thing that happened last year that she lost ballet, too.

He follows her into the kitchen, offering to wash up. Feeling down now, she concedes, “I don’t have to teach you to dance if you don’t want to.”

He turns to her, lifting her chin so she has to look in his eyes, and quips, “But we made a deal, and you better get started on those brownies,” giving her a little nudge with his elbow and a wink. She can’t help but laugh, he always makes her feel better somehow.

“Okay, I’ll turn some music on,” she smiles to herself, feeling excited to teach Sandor, as they busy themselves in the kitchen. Maybe he’ll like dancing and want to do it all the time! Maybe they’ll go out dancing sometime – is there some place in Maidenpool?  _Gods, I’m getting ahead of myself!_

After putting the brownies in the oven, she clears a little area for them. Having Sandor across from her, she starts, “Okay, Sandor, to start out, music is in beats of eight, though I’m not going to teach you steps to a particular dance, it’s still basic to understand, so see me tap my feet,” she demonstrates, counting to eight, and looks up at him, “now let’s do it together in a rhythm.” He hesitantly joins her.

“Stay with me, please,” she continues, “eight times consistent, that’s the rhythm. Before you start dancing to music, it’s important to identify the beat first with a tap of your foot, for example.” 

Thinking this is basic, she moves along, “Then we’ll add an alternating rhythm with a clap.” He already looks lost, slumping his shoulders a bit. She tries to encourage, “You’ll get it, watch me first. Dancing is all about confidence, which you have in most things.” She shows him and he joins her on the next eight beats, though rigidly. 

“Okay, let’s speed it up a bit, like dance music.” He messes up, his big hands fumbling, but he gets it on the next few sets of eight. “So this is the rhythm and basic dance music, and from that, I’ll show you the basic step pattern.” He gives her a slight nod.

“With the rhythm of the beat, you step to the side with one foot, then bring the other beside it, just the ball of the foot though, and moving side to side like this,” she demonstrates.  Sandor shuffles his feet to either side, and is really just following her, so she’s not sure he’s really picking up the rhythm concept. It is somewhat intuitive, she’ll give him that.

Sansa moves beside him, “Would you show me eight steps, Sandor?” He tenses up, but obliges, though stiffly. She advises, “Try loosening up with a bend in the knee, lowering.” She shows him to his side, but he bends too far, and she tries to hide a smile at how silly he looks. “Not quite a squat, just slight.”

He had straightened back up, so she gently knocks his knees to a better angle. “Alright, we’ll try this again,” and she moves with him, side to side. 

“Okay, let’s work on identifying the beat in music.”  Sansa clicks play on her dance playlist, but it was soon frustrating Sandor with the quick pace. He looked like he’s trying to catch a fly with his random claps and is confusing the dogs. Stranger started barking at the door even, and she’s sure she wasn’t able to hide her smile.

Trying to come up with an alternative fast, she went for her Winehouse playlist with slower, danceable songs. “Let’s try this, you might like Amy Winehouse actually.”

Tired of humoring her, she can tell, he leans back on the table, and gruffly asks, “Why’s that?”

“She can be pretty explicit at times, but they’re great songs, more real in a way.” Playing the first song, she closes her hands over Sandor’s to help him find the beat, “See, feel that, it should become like second nature.” She looks up into his eyes with a curl of her lips, and he seems disarmed now.

Sansa pulls him up, helping him find the beat with his feet, and leads him in his steps. By the time he seems more comfortable, the next song is on, so she helps him with this new one. When she thinks he’s ready, she let’s go of his hands, “and like me, you can adapt this to move in a circle or in a V pattern, try moving your arms, and remember that slight bend in the knee.” _Aww, he’s dancing all on his own!_ She clasps her hands to her chest, still keeping step and spins around but hits the kitchen counter.

Sandor’s there to help her, but she just giggles, “See even I make a fool of myself, but that’s half of the fun, just letting go.”

“Not sure I’m getting this, little bird,” Sandor shrugs.

“Well, that’s why you need practice, I’ll show you how to dance with someone.” She takes his hands in hers _._

Waiting for a new song to start, “Okay, tap your foot to find the beat, then when you’re ready,” He abruptly starts moving, pulling her along ungracefully, “oh there you go, you’re getting the hang of it.” Pulling her closer, he teases, “Maybe I just have a good teacher. Not a word of this outside of here though,” he sternly eyes her.

“It does fall on men to lead in dancing, so it’s good for you to take the initiative, and don’t tell me you completely hate it,” she playfully smiles. “You can also dance closer in a more traditional hold,” she pulls his hand around to her mid-back and then rests hers on his shoulder. She tells him, “Keep your hold light but firm and considering your height, be mindful of your partner’s height, it’s a bit of a reach for me even.” 

She counts to eight, then instructs Sandor, “Now move your hand that’s in mine up and out,” he gives her a little scowl but does as asked, and she does a little turn under their hands upheld and returns to find Sandor’s arm back at his side. Grabbing his arm to put it back, she explains, “That’s a basic spin, just remember to have your arm ready to bring your partner back and to stay in the beat. Count to eight and try on your own, please.”

With a look of concentration, he looks down at his feet – “No, back up here, you don’t watch your feet, mister,” she reprimands, which earns her a glare as he counts again, looking at the wall behind her. So stubborn, but he does a decent job of executing the turn, but he was thinking too hard almost so it wasn’t fluid.

“That’s probably as many new tricks as you can handle in a night,” she pokes at him.

“Calling me an old dog now,” he rasps in that gravelly voice, jokingly affronted and nudges her not ungently in a little spin again. “Not sure you have any more tricks up your sleeve.” _Is he challenging me now?_

“You saying I don’t know how to dance, now?” she scoffs, giving him an upset pout.

“If you’re so good, show me.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the table.

“Seriously?” _Fine_ , she thinks, _I’ll do the chorus routine from senior year dance team._ She smoothes down her hair and clothes, then finds her song to start at the right spot.  _Gods, she hasn’t done this in over a year!_

The song starts and she hops, spreading her arms and moving side to side, similar to the basic step she just taught him, gesticulating with her hands. Then moving to the side, tilting her shoulder and head, showing two fingers on each hand to signify the “22” in the song, kicking her foot out, coyly, as she looks at him.  She then puts her hands on her hips and swivels them, lowering down a bit, invitingly, and ends with a playful jump, which draws the dogs over to her, circling in excitement as she’s trying to finish this short bit. 

She pats Lady, grabbing her front paws, and Sansa bends her legs to play dance with her, she likes this addition to her routine and throws her head back with a big smile, shaking her hair.  Letting go of Lady, she transitions by straightening her legs but keeping her chest low, swinging her torso around and up to do some knee raises with her hands forming a heart out of her chest and adding in the “22” sign again. 

She then skips over to Sandor to pull him up to dance with her and the dogs. She smiles big as he humors her, and she enthusiastically picks up Tess and dances around with her in her hands, Sandor snorting at her. She hands Tess over to him, and he holds her out now to jokingly dance with the puppy, but he probably enjoys this more than he’ll admit. 

For the end of the song, she moves away from them to do a little split jump like in ballet just to put to rest all doubts about her dancing capabilities. Coming down, she looks to Sandor who’s wowed, evident by his open mouth and wide eyes.

“Impressed?” she asks, making a show of brushing off her shoulders.

“Holy shit, little bird, I guess you can fly a bit, huh?” he jests with a light in his eyes, as he pets Tess and sets her down. Then he sniffs, “Is something burning?”

Sansa gasps, “Shit! The brownies!” which makes Sandor laugh deeply. He seems to love it when she curses.

She rushes to pull them out, and it looks like they were just starting to get overcooked. “Looks like the edges are ruined, so I’ll cut from the center!” she calls out to him.

After smoking a bowl on her roof, though Sandor was annoyed at the size of her window while trying to crawl out of it, she piled all her covers, sheets and pillows into the living room to the sight of a very puzzled Sandor.

“Blanket fort!” she declares, high on life…and well, pot, but mostly life.

“What are you going on about, little bird?” He bends to pick up all her covers, and she jumps on them to stop him, but he just picks her up with them! 

Giggling, she whines, “Sandor! What are you doing? Haven’t you ever made a blanket fort? Ya know, cushions and pillows under a makeshift tent of sheets?” He had turned but stops, dropping her onto the couch.

“No,” he shrugs. Her heart melts—he’s never made a blanket fort!  Was he deprived of childhood or did that like miss his generation?

“Well, I’ll teach you, big man.” And she pulls her chairs over and knocks all the cushions onto the floor. “Help me drape the sheet, please,” she requests, and Sandor moves to help her. After their attempt, she growls in utter frustration, “It’s not working!”

“Chill, little bird, you sound like me,” Sandor chuckles and studies the setup, looking around for other items, and starts moving stuff around. 

“Sandor, don’t rearrange, everything!”

“But what about the fort?!” he growls, _he is way too focused on this fort_. By the time he’s finished, he has sheets draping this way and that and she doesn’t even know how he did it but it’s pretty sweet. “Now what?” he says while checking out the structural integrity of his great fort of blankets. 

“Get the brownies, I’ll get my laptop, and we’ll hang out in it.” He almost looks let down, like he wanted to defend the fort or something.

Lying in the fort, Sandor crawls in, balancing the brownies, seeming disgruntled at the lack of space. The dogs follow, making their own space. She notes, “A bit cramped now that I’m not a little girl.” 

He moves to get up, “I can maybe expand it,” and he gets pensive again about the fort. She laughs to herself, _what is his deal with building things, it’s hilarious_. 

“It’s okay, let’s just chill and watch some youtube videos of dogs or some shit.”

“You trying cussing out tonight, little bird,” he smirks over at her.

“I have some questionable influences in my life,” she smiles at him playfully. 

A thought strikes her suddenly, Sandor had mentioned he traveled across the seas, “Show me everywhere you’ve been,” she pushes the laptop on him with a “please” and Tess is already crawling up to claim her empty lap now. 

He shows her places all over Westeros and Essos and it’s all so magical, and she starts telling him about all the places she wants to go.

“Anywhere closer to here you want to check out, little bird?” he asks her with a yawn. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him this relaxed. 

“Actually,” she kind of fidgets, “I want to see God’s Eye lake and the Harrenhal castle ruins, and maybe even visit the Isle of Faces.”

He looks over at her now, “Really, the Isle of Faces? What’s out there?” 

“I just think it would be cool – it’s got some old history connected to my ancestors,” she points out and then it hits her. “Oh my gods, Sandor!”  

“What, little bird?” he sounds irritated at her burst of energy.

“My sister would love it, we should all go out there! We can take the dogs, it’ll be so fun! My sister’s going to want to backpack and camp out there, crap. It might be fun still though, if you come,” she pouts at him, maybe he’s out of it enough to agree.

“Maybe, little bird, if I get off, I should head home.” She tensed at him saying he was leaving, why did she not want him to leave yet? He was practically asleep or on the verge.

“But I haven’t given you your massage yet,” she brings up impulsively. He’s turned over to lift himself up, but she starts rubbing his back and humming softly, “Sandor, I don’t want you to be sore from all the dancing.”  _As if he would be,_ a part of her berates herself, questioning her actions.

“Just lay down and I’ll rub your back before you go,” she softly pushes him and he just falls onto his stomach, he’s so sleepy. She could get used to this docile Sandor, up past his bedtime.  _Maybe that bowl did the trick,_ she smiles to herself, as she works her palms into his shoulder blades, and he just grunts a little when she hits a spot that must feel good. He’s just like a big sleeping bear like this.

Before long, his grunts turn to deep snores, and she just watches him sleep a little. He must not stay up past midnight often. She finds her own eyelids growing heavy, though she’s fighting it, and then realizes all her bedding is in here for the blanket fort! _Great Sansa, you didn’t think of that. What has she done?_  Another moment and her lids are even heavier, so she’s just like whatever and lies down on the other side, giving in to her dreams.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV

The Tuesday following their accidental sleepover, Sandor’s walking over the dogs to the park, stopping to get coffee and pastries from Rose as usual. Everything seems normal with the little bird—like he didn’t just wake up next to her two days ago.

It was all very strange but nice in a way. He’d been woken up by Stranger licking his face and him trying to push the beast off him with his head, but he thought he was just at his house at first. Moving to get the crick out of his neck, thinking, _fuck, since when did my bed feel like the floor_ , he became acutely aware of a warm body in his arms. His eyes had flicked open to see red hair – _the little bird? What is she doing here? Is this one of those too real dreams?_

Looking around he realized they were still in the blanket fort with early light coming in and surrounded by the dogs, he rolled over onto his back, rubbing his eyes with his free right hand. The little bird just sighed and shifted with him, sounding content in her slumber with her head resting on the upper part of his other arm. He gently moved some of her hair out of her face, running his hands through the copper strands, though he stopped at a tangle, not wanting to wake her yet. He studied her face, wanting to remember her like this with those pretty eyelashes like little feathers, and those so light freckles on her cheek and nose.  _Gods, she’s like sunshine, so warm and bright that it’s intoxicating itself._

The night before comes back to him as he pets her hair splayed out on the pillow, challenging her to dance for him, she was so cute and sexy all at once, then she was so enthralled as he showed her on the map all the places he’d traveled. Had he agreed to go somewhere with her? Then he thought he’d left, but he must’ve fallen asleep here, he’d never done this before. He was vaguely aware of her rubbing his back…did anything happen? No, he would’ve remembered that he’s sure.

He had gotten up to take the dogs out, and by the time he got back, she was up and about, chirping about making muffins and having breakfast together before they put her living room back to rights. Hells, it took him over an hour to undo his epic blanket fort, but he’d left her to do her work for school. 

Still, they hadn’t talked about it, mostly because she didn’t bring it up, which she would have if she’d been upset by it, hopefully. He didn’t think this friend zone she’s put him in included staying over, but she’s redefined that. Nearing the clearing, he resolves to bring it up and maybe broach the idea of going on a date with her.

Suddenly, Stranger starts barking and pulls loose his leash violently, which shocks Sandor completely – he never acts like this, but then he hears it, Lady’s harsh bark and then a yelp like she’s been kicked. Dropping the bakery stuff, he runs after Stranger unsure what could be going on, but nothing good. 

As he breaks through the weeping willow branches that shelter their spot, he hears Sansa crying out for him desperately and the scuffle of probably two others with her. Finally through, he’s correct as he sees two lowlife youths holding down the little bird, but it’s weird, like one’s writing something on her face, while the other rips her blouse off, holding a camera. 

It looks like Lady was kicked to the ground, but the one with the camera gets up to try and deal with the snarling Stranger after getting his pant leg ripped – _bad idea, idiot, he grins to himself_ – but the fucker sees him advancing towards them and takes off, yelling to his mate. Sandor shouts some commands to Stranger who is on the heels of the running fucker to pin him to the ground. Meanwhile, he grabs the other in a chokehold off Sansa, pulling out his belt to bind him, and drags him over to the other one, feet dangling.

He calls out to Sansa, who’s just hysterical at this point, understandably, “You okay for a minute, little bird?” She gives a feeble nod and moves over to the little pond. He pulls off Stranger’s leash to tie the one in his hold to the base of a willow tree, so Sansa doesn’t see this.

Stranger did a good number on the other little shit, and he’s bleeding from his leg and looks like he’ll have some nice bite marks at his neck. Good to know the old beast still has it in him. Lady is limping behind Stranger, snarling at the one he now drags under the weeping willow canopy, and he can tell the little shit has no fight left in him now. He sends Stranger and Lady back out to watch over the little bird.

Holding his knife to the one on the ground’s throat, he demands, “Now one of you fuckers better start talking, or it’s going to get awful bloody in here. Been awhile and I have a taste for it.”

Not surprisingly, the one in his grasp starts to whimper, “Man, we didn’t mean no harm, just to write on her face, not hurt her. We sorry, man.” Sandor punches him hard in the gut, “Do I look like I want your fucking apology? Save your sorry’s for the Stranger,” he barks in his face, the rage seething through him strong now. _This is going to feel good roughing up these assholes._

Tired of waiting, he decides to search them. He gets their IDs out and in the one on the tree, he finds a folded up piece of paper. In it is a picture of the little bird, instructions for an assault, and details of the payment offered. _Fools to carry this with them._  As much as he wants to crumple this paper into extinction, he knows this is important to keep as well as their identification info.

“Hey man, I don’t know where that came from,” the fucker tied to the tree is stupid enough to deny, and Sandor punches him in the face for that. “Honesty would’ve been rewarded,” he smiles ferociously at the man who looks even more frightened now. 

“Where’s the camera?” he points his knife into the same one’s face until a trickle of blood falls and then pulls down to make a scar, then makes another gash in the opposite direction. The fool murmurs, mostly to himself, “This was not how this was supposed to go.” Sandor just pounds his side, yelling, “Answer me.”

The pathetic one on the ground bleeding mutters, “Think I dropped it, man,” and Sandor swears these are the stupidest shits he’s ever met.  They probably weren’t counting on meeting the Hound today though. Pulling a sock off one to gag the one on the tree, he grabs the other idiot and holds his knife to his side as he forces him to find the camera that was supposed to prove the assault took place. He can’t even wrap his mind around this twisted shit, especially when he sees Sansa shaking by the little pool, looking at him unblinking while petting Lady and Tess, as he tries to finish with these fools. He pockets the camera and goes back through the willow canopy.

He throws that one back down and then roughs the liar up, breaking his nose, and then threatens them that he wouldn’t think twice about slitting their throats if he sees either one near the girl again, and that he’s got friends in the police force so he’s the one with impunity in this. Gods, how he wishes he could just kill these two lowlifes, but he lets them go. Murder would draw too much attention, but he’d be in prison now if he got put behind bars for every idiot he’s beat up over the years. 

Walking back to the little bird, he tugs his shirt off for her to cover herself with, then gently picks her up like he had at the castle, making sure he has Tess’s leash in hand. The other two are smart enough to follow though Lady’s limping. Fuck, he should’ve broken one of their legs for that, at least Stranger got one of their legs bad.

He doesn’t say anything to her and she’s silent, too, as she buries herself into his chest. Remembering the bag from the bakery, he stops to grab it – she could use a muffin probably.

Taking her to his house, he places her on the couch and checks her for any serious injuries though he thinks it's all superficial, crouching down next to her. “Sorry I wasn’t there sooner, little bird,” he mumbles to her, “You aren’t hurt are you, just scared?”

She nods and says softly, just above a whisper, “Can you get it off?” and tears start to fall from her eyes again. She must have seen it mirrored in the little pool of water how they wrote in permanent marker on her face, “slut.” He guesses this was supposed to be some kind of humiliation.  _Fuck, this is some really fucking twisted shit._

“Yes,” he decides he will find a way and pulls his phone out to search for ways to get it off the skin. _Poor little bird_. How could those idiots do this for money? He knows people will do anything for money though, what’s worse is those that do it because they enjoy it.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks, pulling the muffin out to set it on the coffee table.

She coughs, “Tea, if it’s no trouble,” in a soft, disheartened tone.

Somehow that just breaks him, she’s so sweet and wanting to please everyone even now. Seeing her like this, he strokes her hair and pulls her back to his chest to just hold her. He’s not even thinking or caring about anything but her in this moment, so he just does it and he feels her wracked with sobs against him. This isn’t how he thought today would go either.

When she seems to calm, he sets her back on the couch, not looking at her in the eye because it’s just too much, so he makes sure she has pillows propped up around her and mumbles something about a blanket. Going in the kitchen, he heats the kettle and gathers some supplies. Good thing he keeps some of her redbush tea here, he snorts to himself. Pulling out his first aid kit, he takes a minute to check out Lady. Doesn’t look like anything’s broken, so he just puts a bandage on her.  

Getting Sansa’s tea for her and setting it down by the muffin, she’s nibbled on, he gets to work trying to get the marker off with rubbing alcohol. Though there’s still some dark tone to her skin, it’s faded to where one wouldn’t notice it. “I think that’s as good as it gets for now, little bird, without me rubbing your skin off.”

She averts her eyes, “Thanks, Sandor, sorry about everything.” He grabs her chin, probably a little too roughly at this, “You do not apologize for this, Sansa,” he looks into her eyes, willing her to understand. Of course, this just makes her recoil from him, but he just couldn’t let it go.

“Um, can I check the mirror and maybe take a shower?” she asks timidly.

“Yeah, I’ll get you stuff for that, it’ll have to be upstairs and I’ll give you a change of clothes like last time you were all wet,” he smirks at her, then realizes he’s going to have to fish out that small mirror he uses for shaving.

She follows him upstairs and he gets everything for her, setting the mirror on top. “Oh, I forgot how you don’t have any mirrors, sorry,” she stammers.

“Stop apologizing, little bird,” he growls frustrated. Why can’t he just be patient for once in his life? But all her apologizing is driving him mad. Her shoulders slump as she closes the bathroom door behind her, and he feels like an even bigger asshole.

While she’s in the shower, he starts formulating a plan to end this, but he’s got to find a way to the prince because he knows that has to be where this contract came from. _Damn, he must be an cruel bastard to go to these lengths to hurt the little bird._ He goes into the closet of his guest room to start readying supplies for King’s Landing, and he can’t help but get excited to play with some of his toys.

He comes back downstairs after an hour to see Sansa watching TV with Tess in her lap and Lady at her feet, and she seems a bit more revived after her shower. He sits down next to her, asking how she is.

She takes a deep breath and looks over at him, “I think I’m okay, just really shaken. I called my sister after my shower to let her know, and she’s going to try and track down why this happened. She had thought my ex might try something.”

“Why is that?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you, but there’s a video circulating from the party where, ya know, with Harry and you and saying it’s my fault and crap.” She just sighs with a heaviness he wishes she didn’t have.

“You need to tell me stuff like this, Sansa. Why would that cause this?” _Gods, how could she not tell him something like this from her sister?_

“Um, because my ex hates it when I get any attention, I guess, I don’t know. Sandor?” she peeps, looking at her hands.

“What?” he hates when people fucking ask to ask a question.

“Could I stay over here? I just have two classes tomorrow, so I think I’m going to skip, not sure how safe I’m going to feel around Maidenpool now.”

“Of course.” He hates the echo of hope at this, _she’s probably not going to be sleeping in your bed with you after what just happened, bastard,_ he berates himself. “What happened before I got there?”

“Thanks for being the best friend, Sandor!” she smiles at him sweetly. “I noticed they were following me, but I knew you were going to meet me at our spot so I just kept going there, hoping you’d be there, but they attacked me once they realized I was in a hidden part of the park.  You got there in time though.”

The guilt just eats him up, if he hadn’t stopped at the café today, they would’ve never got their dirty hands on her. _Fuck me._ “Should’ve been there earlier, little bird, and we should probably work with Lady on being a better guard dog for you.” They sit for a little while, casually watching the screen, but then he realizes he’s going to have to let her on his plan a bit.

“Sansa, you can stay here as long as you need to but know I’ve decided to take the two dogs done training at the isle to King’s Landing this weekend and will be spending next week at the isle. I think I’ll leave Stranger with you though.” Seeing her countenance fall, he adds, “I’ll get to meet your sister that next week, if she’s still coming.”

“Sandor! How can you leave me right now?!” she starts crying some again and is clearly upset. _Gods what does he do with this?_

“Can’t you stay with your uncle or a friend? You’ll be alright, I’ll give you some mace since I don’t think you got any. And just take Stranger with you wherever you can. He’s getting used to you enough for that. And I’ll get some of friends at the police station to keep an eye out for you, so you can call them if you are in trouble.” Grabbing a piece of paper out of the kitchen, he hands her some numbers to call, and points out, “This is Elder Brother, my therapist’s number, and here’s the therapist he’s recommended to you. It could be good to have someone to talk about this to. You can always call me, too, and next week, I won’t be far away.”

She replies bitterly, “I guess I’ll just have to make do, who cares if I die anyways?”

_Fucking hells, she can be so dramatic!_ Grating on his nerves, he tries to remain in control but barely, “Of course I fucking care, and you’re family cares, so stop that. I wasn't going to show you this, but I got it off one of the guys when I interrogated them. It’s the contract for the attack on you, hopefully this was just given to them and not to multiple people, but your sister might be interested if she can track this kind of shit.”

He didn’t want her to see it, but he wouldn’t want someone not showing him. She looks it over with her hand over her mouth and is obviously shaken by it as he was himself really. Finished, she drops it and just looks up at him, speechless. “I know it’s fucked up, Sansa. I’m going to figure out some way to end it, okay?” He reaches over to wipe her tears from her cheeks, trying to put her back together. He doesn’t want her to know his plan, but he doesn’t want her thinking he’s abandoning her either.  

“What do you mean? There’s nothing to be done, I just need to disappear, and beating people up isn’t going to help that,” she pointedly remarks. 

He tries to ignore her finger pointing. “Don’t worry about it, just do what you need to, little bird.”

“Great, now you’re just patronizing me,” she snips.

“Aren’t you tired?” he sighs, exasperated with her.

“Really, I call you patronizing and you say that, just wow. On my own impetus, I could use a nap I guess, do you want me to sleep here or upstairs?”

He stops at this, her way of saying things is going to drive him mad – did she just ask to take a nap in his bed? Always the pleaser, the little bird. Holding her eyes with a little smirk, he tells her, “Go ahead, sleep in my bed, it’s more comfortable than here, and I might get a raid in before dinner time, okay?” She just nods with a little smile again and takes Tess to go upstairs, and he’s just at a loss at what this means, probably nothing to her. Ever understanding the little bird might be the most hopeless task he has embarked on, and often he wishes he were back with his unit, planning another mission to the dark corners of this world because he knew where he stood then.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: Sleepover and Gala

“Here’s your lemon drop, Margaery,” Sansa is playing the hostess, having the girls over that Friday for a night in and what better way to start than cocktails. She invited Margaery’s other two friends, Randa and Mya, who she lunches with now when she can with Margaery.  

“Oh, this is good, what’s that fizz in it?” Mya asks with a bright smile.

“Oh, I top it off with champagne. My favorite!” Sansa replies trying to be cheerful, but it’s been a week riddled with anxiety for her after the attack at the park. She wanted to have her girlfriends over partly to just not be in her apartment alone, listening for someone that could be coming up to her door and checking the windows all the time. And Sandor not being here this weekend makes it unbearable even if he left Stranger with her, so she hasn’t left the house except to take the dogs out and go to class. At least Sandor had taken her to get groceries before he left, and she has plenty of homework to keep her busy. He kept reassuring her that she was going to be alright and to call him if she needed anything that he would keep his phone on him. 

“What is up with your dog?” Randa asks her somewhat sharply after trying to pet Stranger – Sansa isn’t quite used to her bluntness, to her it’s just rude.

“That’s Sandor’s dog, Stranger, I’m keeping him this weekend while Sandor’s out of town. He’s difficult, just keep your distance,” she explains.

“Stranger, wow, sounds as friendly as his master,” Randa quips, making the other girls laugh, but it just gets under her skin though she doesn’t want to make a scene.

Keeping it light, she relates, “Sandor’s actually a good friend once you get to know him, though I’ve often found it funny how similar man and beast are,” she smiles, remembering that first day she met them both.

Randa just huffs, “Yeah, you’re not the one who got cursed at for just asking him about his scars, like he doesn’t get it all the time.”

Not wanting to take this too far but Sansa has to defend him, “It’s obviously a sensitive subject for him. Could you imagine having scars like that? I don’t even know how he got them.” Trying to quickly change the subject, “What goodies did you bring, Margaery?”

“Thank you, Sansa, this is delicious, and I brought magazines and cupcakes!” she winks at her, knowing Sansa was trying to steer away from Randa’s topic. The girl has given Sansa crap since the party about the whole Harry and Sandor altercation, not believing Sandor’s just her friend. _What does it matter to her, I guess she can’t handle getting turned down?_

After another round of lemon drops, the girls are all in their pajamas, have successfully pulled her mattress into the living room and have their facials on, looking through magazines while Mya offers to paint nails.  

“Sorry we’re like trashing your living room, Sansa,” Mya laughs.

“It’s happens,” she shrugs, “Yeah, Sandor and I were high last weekend, and I decided to build a blanket fort, and he got super focused on it and completely rearranged the room to drape blankets and sheets, it was crazy. It took us most of Sunday morning to put everything back.”

Margaery smiles, “Wow, nothing like being a kid again, right? Didn’t realize he’d started staying over,” she eyes her. 

Sansa’s about to say nothing happened, flustered at her slip, but Randa interrupts and barks out in laughter, “Don’t worry, we know, ‘Nothing happened,’” she affects in a high tone of voice, “You are ridiculous, Sansa, that poor man. Classic friend zone case.”

“He’s my best friend!” she defends.  _Why would she want to complicate things?_ “It’s not like he’s asked me out anyways.” If they’re making such a big deal out of this, at least they don’t know she’d stayed over at his place Tuesday and Wednesday, and they’d even both slept in his bed since his couch isn’t very comfortable, or at least that’s what he said. She was just so afraid of being attacked again and didn't want to be alone in her apartment, and he's just a really comforting presence. She'd barely been able to sleep the few nights here, waking up at every little noise. It’s her fault he fell asleep beside her last weekend anyways with that massage. _Gods, she’s a fool!_  A bit of doubt creeps in, but it’s not like he tried to kiss her or anything improper, and she hadn’t had a drop of alcohol.

Margaery decides to explain, “What my dear Randa is trying to point out is that men Sandor’s age, single ones in particular, aren’t usually just friends with pretty, young women like yourself and especially don’t spend as much time with them as you two do if he’s not interested in more.”

Mya jumps in, too, touching her on the shoulder, “Sansa, if you just want to be friends with Sandor that’s fine, do that. Just don’t be surprised if one day he does want more from you is all we’re saying. Or if he starts seeing someone, know he won’t have as much time for you. Being friends is good though even if you want more later, that’s how Mychel and I were and I wouldn’t have wanted it any different. I’m afraid he’s turned me into a softhearted romantic. I actually bought a dress the other day.”

“Yay! I know you’ll look great with your long legs. But seriously, I didn’t really think about it like that, but I just don’t want things to change,” Sansa admits.

Randa lets out a little yawn actually, so Margaery moves on, “Okay, sex tips,” Margaery smiles, showing her mag to them. “Let me know if you have or would do any of these,” she winks at Randa. “Ooo, interesting, in reverse cowgirl lean down to tickle his feet with your nipples.”

“I’ve never fucked a guy with legs short enough for that, but sometimes I’ll grab his ankles. Men love that position.” Randa laughs deep from her lungs, and all of them get a kick out of it.  Sansa giggles but is very confused about what this reverse cowgirl means and why you would want to do that.

“That’s ridiculous, the nipples tickling his feet part I mean,” Mya shakes her head. “They’re just making shit up now.”

“Okay, next one,” Margaery giggles, “Mix different flavors of lube to create new concoctions to make oral more fun.”

“I’ll admit I’ve never mixed them, that’s kind of silly, what kinds have y’all tried?” Randa answers, seeming comfortable with anything this magazine could throw at her.

Mya looks skeptical, “Flavored lube, no thanks, I’ll stick with honey or chocolate sauce, and Mychel likes the way I taste,” giving a jokingly smug face. 

Margaery contributes coyly with an arched brow, “I actually have a mint kind that’s in a lip gloss wand, so you don’t even know what it’s for and is easy to apply. Isn’t that genius? The mint gives a nice sensation. Girls like it, too,” she smirks and Randa laughs, “You’re so naughty!”

Sansa is so embarrassed at her lack of experience; she didn’t even know there were flavored options! Joff never mentioned that but like he would care.  _Ugh, she tries to shake off the memory of his hand pushing her head down._

“Sansa, you okay?” Margaery looks at her, “anything to add?”

_Shit!_  “Umh, yeah, like whipped cream and strawberries,” she takes a guess, hoping she’s not too pink-cheeked.

“Anything to get my nipples sucked, right?” Randa jokes, probably enjoying her discomfort.

Margaery continues, “This one I would support, splurge on a fancy hotel room for the night and really enjoy it, making a big mess of it!”

“Totally, hotel sex is the best,” Mya agrees and Randa nods affirmatively.  _Good to know,_ Sansa thinks.

On to the next, Margaery suggests, “Massage your partner all over without using your hands,”

Before really thinking, she feels like she might be able to answer this, “Elbows can help get knots out, especially, if they have large muscles.”

“I guess you would know,” Randa laughs, “but I think it means sexier parts of the body than an elbow. This is a bit silly, though I have tied a man up and then grinded on him with many parts of my body to tease him first, does that count?” Sansa just feels mortified now, and she kind of wishes this was a normal weekend hanging out with Sandor watching the next Valyria episode.  What are they going to do when they finish the next and last season till the new one comes out?

“Of course,” Margaery adds with a playful look, “and I don’t see what’s wrong with using your hands anyways, unless you can use your tongue.”

Turning to Sansa, Margaery puts her on the spot, “What was sex with Joff like anyways? We know you aren’t a virgin, Sansa.”

“Not very good evidently,” she tries to shake if off, and the girls actually giggle a little at her honest answer, but at least Mya takes pity on her and suggests they dance and get all this gunk off their faces.

“More lemon drops coming up,” Sansa declares, hoping that’s all the sex talk and Sandor discussion for the night. Going to open another bottle of champagne, the cork was under extra pressure and dangerously ricochets through the kitchen, shocking them all for a second into stillness as the champagne is spraying out everywhere. Then, they’re all laughing in relief as it ends up in the sink and Sansa rushes to stop the bottle. “Holy shit, that was insane,” Margaery holds her hand over her heart. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to, I swear, must’ve got warm.” Sansa laughs with them, and they all cram into her little bathroom to wash off. Back out, she turns on her dance playlist, slipping on her sunglasses to be silly, and the other girls join in. After dancing in the kitchen/dining area, Sansa then jumps onto her mattress, throwing a pillow at Mya who’s put down her martini. The girls have a pillow battle/danceoff until they’re all out of breath, collapsing onto the mattress to watch some more movies and stay up chatting late.

 

* * *

 

_Oh Stranger_ , she’s had enough of keeping Sandor’s pet, and as much as it reassures Sandor that he’s guarding her, it is a new trial every time she wants to get the leash on him or even feed him. After wrangling him back into her apartment with Lady, she can finally get ready for the School of Arts benefit gala. She was overjoyed when her uncle asked her to escort him. She gets to dress up and eat fine food and maybe even dance!

She decides to dial up the big man after sending him a photo of the cool lace appliqué she decided to try out after seeing it in one of the fashion mags last night. It will help cover up any trace of the marker her makeup couldn’t cover, though it’s pretty much gone. “Hey, little bird, everything fine?”

“Hey Sandor, no issues except dealing with your stubborn beast.” He just chuckles on the other end in his way. 

“You should’ve seen what he did to that guy’s leg though, the old mutt’s still got it.”

“Is he like old?” she wonders.

He sighs, “Bout like me, an old warrior, he was my dog and came on some missions, kept him after.”  _Really!_

“Wow, Sandor! I didn’t realize that.” She almost said sorry but is getting better at keeping those apologies in, and it’s kind of freeing.

“What’s this photo? There’s something on your forehead,” he asks.

“It’s lace, it’s not too much, is it?” she asks not wanting to make a fool of herself.

“You’d know better than me,” he seems disinterested, _maybe it is too much…_

“Maybe I look ugly,” she says mostly to herself.

“Gods, Sansa, is this your emergency? You know you’re always pretty.” At this, she feels her breath catch and her heartbeat flutter for a moment, _he thinks I’m pretty!_ Maybe her friends are right, maybe she should ask him if he has…has what? Feelings, likes her? Oh gods, she can’t, how could she ask Sandor that? He’d totally freak out on her, and then he wouldn’t want to be her friend, what would he think? What if he does admit to it? Would he stay friends with her if she knew or would she have to choose? She starts making a whimpering hum to herself, stressed.

“Little bird, you there?” he questions, since she hasn’t said anything.

Panicky, she responds, “Yes, I’m here.”  _What do I say now?_

“You sound a little off all of a sudden, you okay?”

Regaining composure, she replies, “Yes, I’m getting ready to go to the gala with my uncle.”

“Oh, that’s good, you’ll enjoy that. Have fun with the girls last night?”

“Yes, um, I guess I’ll let you go, everything okay in King’s Landing?”

Sounding a bit frustrated, he answers, “Yeah, it’s fine. You're still planning to see that therapist this week, right?

"Yes, remember you were there when I made the appointment,"she responds, it gives her at least something to do while he's away.

Sandor ends, "Talk to you during the week, okay? Keep sending the pictures of you and the dogs every day, let’s me know you’re okay.” Her heart skips a beat again, and she doesn’t know what to think.

“Okay, bye,” and she hangs up, somewhat abruptly, holding her hand over her chest. Looking at the time, she slips into her dress and shoes to wait for her uncle.

Opening the door to him, Petyr presents her with the most beautiful flowers she’s ever seen. “Peonies from the garden, my dear, couldn’t let them fade without you seeing them first.”

She takes them and gives her uncle a big hug, “Oh, they’re beautiful, Uncle Petyr!” which he returns, giving her a light peck on the cheek and saying, “and you’re exquisite tonight.”

Separating to fetch a vase, he reminds her, “Remember just Petyr, Sansa, you’re grown up now, and this gala is important for the college.”  _But you are my uncle_ , she thinks, though she doesn’t question it.  

The gala is beautiful, and it kind of makes her miss all the functions she got to attend in King’s Landing and dress up for, even at Winterfell her family threw some events. She’s going to have to ask mom to make Sevenmas a fancy affair this year, though Arya will not like her for it. It seems like Petyr knows everyone here, and with his charming manner, he introduces her to them as Lady Sansa Stark but not mentioning that she’s his niece, which struck her as a bit strange.  

Sitting at their round table with candles all around, Petyr asks her what wine she’ll prefer. Folding her napkin in her lap and making sure her place setting is in order, she declares, “Honestly, champagne would be lovely since this is so fine, I feel like celebrating.”

“Good idea,” he smiles at her, “I made sure they knew to make all your courses vegetarian, my dear,” he pats her arm.  She smiles up at his thoughtfulness, “Thanks, Petyr,” with luck she remembered to drop the uncle.

The champagne poured into flutes, Petyr makes a toast to youth and her to the whole table, and she enjoys getting to converse with some of the interesting people who support the arts in Maidenpool. Even though, she feels a little nervous when she realizes that Harry’s aunt is at the other side of the table, and the proud lady does seem to look down her nose at Sansa a bit.

“Don’t worry about the old bat,” Petyr whispers in her ear, “you’re too good for Harry anyway,” he winks at her, and she feels a lot more at ease. 

“You’re the best. All this champagne reminds me of last night, I put a splash in my lemon drop martinis for the girls, but I had left a bottle out and opened it warm, so the cork went everywhere and the champagne, too. I lost a third of the bottle.”

“What a shame,” his lips curl with amusement, “Seems like you’re doing a lot of celebrating, I hope I get to taste one of these lemon drops of yours.”

“Of course,” she smiles at him, like they have their own private joke here. She enjoys herself and all the food is delicious, which is not always common when you get the vegetarian option.  And when they bring out dessert, she is mesmerized. Petyr sees her interest and snaps someone over, “What is your wish, sweetling?”  _It all looks so good!_  “I would like the mousse cake, please,” she requests, and it’s so delectable, light and fluffy but rich and chocolaty at the same time.

Once she’s finished, Petyr pours her another glass of champagne, and he stands, offering his hand with a smile, “Come, dear, I wish to introduce you to more people, if you would care to join me.”

Glass in hand, she enjoys how at ease Petyr is in this social setting, and she feels like quite the lady with her courtesies and the elegant evening.  _Hard to believe she was being held down and slut written on her face a mere four days ago,_ but she tries to shake those thoughts away.

After mingling some more with others, finishing her flute of champagne, Petyr takes her aside, handing off her empty glass, and he gives her a peck on the hand, “Shall we dance? I know your mother always favored the waltz.” She lights up at the idea, she’d felt it too much to ask him to humor her before since she’d noticed couples dancing after dinner to the lovely orchestra.

She doesn’t even have to say anything; Petyr can see her delight and guides her to the dance floor to lead her in the waltz, turning her around the floor, making quite a show of it. She’s a bit surprised to see her uncle is an elegant dancer really, and she doesn’t feel that need to take over as she usually does dancing with a partner. So she just enjoys the dance, moving fluidly with her uncle, as she looks over at all the beautiful candlelight twinkling in the glass and all the well-dressed people.

Then she feels Petyr pet her hair and pull her closer as the song changes, and speaks softly to her, “My beautiful niece, I believe you charmed double the money out of these lovely people tonight.”

She let’s out a little laugh, she hadn’t even said a thing about money, “I’m sure it’s all of your charm. They know I’m a lady anyways, so it’s not a charity.”

“Oh, you think I’m charming,” he smirks, and pushes her into a twirl. “What they see in you tonight is better than charity, it’s the prestige of having the Lady Sansa study art in Maidenpool, and they want to be a part of that.”

“I am afraid that’s all a joke,” she falters, letting a little of that disillusionment break through.

“It’s not,” he contradicts and Petyr moves one of his hands to her cheek, arresting her gaze and in deep thought, like he is looking beyond her eyes at something else entirely as he goes on, “You are so much like Cat.” She feels a bit uneasy at this, but he seems to recover quickly, “Don’t let what may have happened last year determine who you are, Sansa, you are a lady and the most graceful, stunning, and intelligent one alive today. The realm has missed out on a splendid queen, and it’s not your fault your path has changed. The prince will never be worthy of you now.”

She just looks into her uncle’s eyes, astonished by the faith in her he seems to have fostered. “Thank you,” she is finally able to vocalize, “that is lovely encouragement.”

After enjoying further dancing to end the evening, her uncle drives her back to her apartment. “Enjoy yourself?” he looks over at her with that half smile of his. 

“You know I did,” she grins, feeling a bit sleepy now that the champagne has worn off, “Thank you for a pleasant evening,” she yawns.

“It was my pleasure, you could join me at more of these functions, even for my business, my dear, though some are in Gulltown or King’s Landing, though I would make sure you wouldn’t have to interact with the prince. I even go further away on occasion.” 

Not sure she wants to get that involved, “Maybe, I would like to in Maidenpool at least, I don’t want all that travel to interfere with my studies.” 

He sighs, “Of course, my dear, here we are, lunch this week? We should look at what you’re planning to take next semester.”

“Of course,” she smiles sleepily, opening the car door, “Goodnight, Petyr, thank you again.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI the sex tips are actual stuff from Cosmo, some this might be dated, but just trying to capture different perspectives on sex at this age.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV: King's Landing & Quiet Isle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this chapter for essentially rape/non-con during the threat & torture scene here with Joffrey. It took a very weird turn towards non-con bondage verging on erotic, but it works. I'll include asterisks to point out the paragraphs in this most violent scene yet in this story. So without further ado, the Sandor/Joffrey BDSM scene you never asked for! ;)

After getting his latest trainees handed over and everything signed, Sandor set to task on his reconnaissance efforts, staking out the prince’s house the first day and night. Can’t really call it a house like the little bird had him believe, it’s a huge mansion near the college with a secure gate and fence for him and his shithead brothers.

He brought all the tactical gear he could imagine needing:  grappling hooks, night camera, motion censors, a bulletproof vest, as well as an assortment of knives, torture equipment, ropes, and his favored handgun though unfortunately he couldn’t get away with killing the bugger. Even his tentative plan and stalking the prince is treason. 

_Good thing he had declined the knighthood_ , he snorts to himself. That had been in all the papers with the version of events told to the press. Maybe it would’ve helped him land the little bird though who knows with her. And she’ll never understand why he would refuse if she ever finds out.

Still back to the task at hand, he had decided to call in a favor since stealth has never been his strong suit, and this prince business could all go bad terribly fast. Brienne had insisted on dinner, so he obliged though to dine in, since he’d rather keep as much secrecy as he can in this endeavor.

“Hound,” Jaime shakes his hand, permanent smug grin in place, as he entered, “burgers and beer good with you?”

“Just the burgers,” he nods to Jaime with his typical scowl, feels like old times. After eating on their patio, enjoying the bay breeze, Jaime asks, “So is this a social call or do you have some purpose?”

“I did have some dogs to bring down here, but there is something else,” he rubs the stubble of his chin with the back of his fingers then the back of his ear, “I was thinking of calling in a favor, but you would both have to promise me secrecy, especially if you chose to not assist.” He gives them both a level stare to emphasize his seriousness.  

Brienne raises her eyebrows, “What have you got yourself in now? I thought you were done.”

Jaime shows interest, “I’m assuming this is unrelated to the force? But hells if I’m not curious, I swear not a word.”

“Fine, not a word,” Brienne agrees, lips pursed.

Not really sure how to explain, he just begins, “I plan to make a serious threat to the prince concerning a personal matter, but in order to do this I need access to him for a short period of time alone. My current options include attempting to crash a party at the brotherhood estate where he lives and isolate him. My other idea is to lure him to me with possession of something he wants. I’m leaning towards the second. Still, I could use some counsel and backup to pull this off.” He looks to each of them for a reaction.

“So which nephew is this, though I have a good guess?”  _Shite, how could he have forgotten that detail?! He can’t do this, fuck he’s just washed up._

“Joffrey,” he grits out, hating that stupid name.

Seeming at ease discussing this nephew of his, Jaime asks in no rush, “Really curious about these personal details of yours.” He narrows his eyes at Sandor, trying to measure his intent, he can tell, rapping the fingers of his good hand on the table in thought like the flicking tail of a house cat.

Brienne is in agreement and speaks more plainly, “If you’re determined to do this, you need to lay it all out,” then sternly, “This is treason, Clegane!”

“Like I don’t know that!” He grimaces, knowing that if he tells them about Sansa, they’ll consider helping him but then they’ll know about the little bird being in his life and him fucking caring about her enough to do this. Fuck it. “I made a copy of the contract details that I believe originated from Joffrey,” he hands it over to them to inspect. “I found that on two idiots who attacked a friend of mine in the manner described, I barely got there in time to stop them from getting away with it.”

He can see Brienne’s eyes go wide at the details and then look back at him concerned but still speechless. He smirks, “Don’t worry, I left them still breathing.” She looks relieved but a bit amazed, too. “That was smart of you and strong,” she admits. He just snorts at that, _Brienne’s about as bad as Elder Brother_ _when it comes to sentiment, but she’s good._

“Wait, you said this girl is your friend?” Jaime is shocked but then starts laughing at his expense, can always count on him to find some levity in a situation.But then recognition sweeps over Jaime, “Holy shit, this is Lady Sansa Stark!” Brienne gasps, “You’re right, how did I not see it? It’s coming back to me, she was at some function with your family. She was Joffrey’s girlfriend or fiancée last year, right?”

_“_ What the fuck?! Fiancée?!” Sandor barks impulsively.

Jaime starts to explain, “Calm down, Florian,” but Sandor interrupts, “Don’t even fuck with me right now, Kingslayer.”

“Okay, let me explain. It was not official but they were thought to be a good match, and Robert had wanted Joffrey to marry soon. Somehow it ended sometime before Sevenmas last year, because he was single again when the family got together, and Robert made a big stink about that, remember?” He looks at Brienne to reiterate.

“Oh yes,” Brienne recollects, “King Robert would not shut up about it, partly to unsettle your sister. Still, he was adamant that Joffrey get her back, or he wasn’t worthy of being considered his heir. It shocked everyone to silence, I didn’t forget that.”

“But gods, I didn’t know it was this bad or still an issue for her,” Jaime sums up, looking back at him. Sandor’s head is spinning at all this revelation – _they know the little bird!_  Still, it’s good to hear a more objective look at this part of her past. He responds, “She’s a sweet girl, and he’s still harassing her from afar, and I intend to make it stop.”

 Jaime gets a curious and amused expression on his face as he watches Sandor. “So how do you plan to stop him?”

“Scare him a little, maybe give him some reminders.” Sandor grins slightly with a wink.

“I don’t think you’re even capable of only scaring a little. You’d do that with a friendly hello,” Jaime quips.

Brienne remains upset, “This is just horrible, hiring someone to do this to a noble lady and get it all on camera. Is there no honor left in this kingdom?”  _Gods, she’ll be on her soapbox now._

“Why Brienne, evidently the Hound has come to the rescue of the fair Lady Sansa, my love,” Jaime reaches over to kiss her hand, making Brienne shake her head, looking upwards, amused. Jaime continues, “and I’m sure there’s only honor in it for him,” and he laughs more.

“Shut it,” Sandor growls, not enjoying the jokes, “Are you two going to help me or not?”

“Some,” Brienne answers cautiously, “since we do owe you and Stranger.”

“Where is the old beast anyways, your best friend?” Jaime is enjoying himself.

He just sighs, resigned, “Left him to guard the girl.”

“Is that wise?” Brienne questions, knowing Stranger too well, “I doubt he’s mellowed much.”

“The mutt has become attached to Sansa’s dog, Lady, so he’s become more tolerant of her mistress.”

At this, Jaime laughs hard, “This is too good! You and Stranger smitten with two ladies.” No use in trying to deny it, it will only egg him on to ask more questions and make more jokes.

“Brienne, he doesn’t deny his love!” Jaime cries.

Had enough, he bellows, “I didn’t save your ass to be the butt of your jokes, asshole, now tell me how I do this!”

 

* * *

 

Covered in head to toe black, Sandor gets in position after he makes the call for the exchange that next night. It was too easy to convince the prince to meet in person—the boy was excited to get his hands on that footage, the bastard. His entourage shows up and like a lamb to the slaughter, the prince himself walks toward the big “X” they had set up with a spotlight on it and the decoy camera in sight. 

He hears Joffrey laugh to one of his cohorts about the stupidity of whomever they think they’re dealing with, but his laughter is short-lived. The prince doesn’t realize he’s tripped the motion censors, and smoke bombs start to go off and the spotlight changes to disorienting strobe lights while sirens add to the mayhem.

Sandor immediately springs into action to isolate the prince and steal him away while his two accomplices distract the associates in the other direction. Prince in tow, Sandor returns to his hiding place to gag him and remove any weapons before hauling him kicking and whimpering like a child to his rendezvous point. He thinks he may have ten minutes with the prince before he hands him off to Jaime and Brienne for the drop off.  Kidnapping tends to attract attention fast, and he doesn’t want to leave any obvious marks or evidence though he will reveal his identity to Joffrey to better support his threat.

Flashlight in teeth, he ties Joffrey to essentially a pillory post in the dark basement boiler room of a nearby facility. The idiot is straining and trying to mumble through the ball gag. He has set some tools in front of the prince, his buck knife, a bone saw, and a hammer. Shining his flashlight on them, he chuckles maniacally in Joffrey’s ear, “Let’s get to work.” Joffrey reacts like a scared animal, writhing in fear and trying to whine pitifully as much as he can with the gag.

Now in front of the prince, Sandor shines the light in his eyes, getting close with his face, “You see, we have something in common, prince, a taste for violence. You may prey on the weak, but me, I prey on the predators,” and he licks his lips audibly for the effect. Always good to make ‘em think your batshit fucking insane with a predilection for torture to scare the living daylights out of any fool. He prefers a clean kill himself, but he’d have to really plan out killing the king’s oldest son, as worthless as titles are in this country anymore, money still counts.

“Now, I’m taking your gag out, but if you raise your voice, I’ll cut out your tongue, and leave you here to choke on your own blood. The only way you come out of this alive is following my instructions.”

Shining the light on his own face is risky, but he’d rather take the target off Sansa’s back. His reputation and appearance is too much of an asset not to use to pull this off. “You’re that…” the boys eyes widen in fear, and there’s a tremble in his voice. 

Sandor cuts him off, eyes in an exaggerated, crazed stare and teeth bared in a gruesome smile, snarling, “the Hound.”

“What do you want? Do you no longer serve the realm? I order you to return me to the king immediately!” Joffrey stammers. Sandor pulls out his pliers to make a move towards the squealer’s tongue, prying his mouth open. He shakes his head frantically, attempting to say, “Wait.”

* Pulling back, Sandor unbuckles him, pulling his pants and underwear down to his ankles, leaving him exposed. Sandor sets a butt plug at his feet, shining the flashlight on it, so the shithead can see it, but the prince seems confused, still trembling in fear. Sandor explains, “Did a little check on you, heard you and your brothers have a saying, ‘no means yes, yes means anal,' so let me make you more comfortable to begin.”

Then, he repositions the ball gag, picking up the butt plug, as the prince tries desperately to verbalize, “No.” Sandor cringes at what he’s about to do, _this fucking plan,_ “Since no means yes, I’ll do the honors,” and he shoves it up the asshole of the prince who's struggling in his bondage. He doesn’t feel good about this, but it seems worth it for Sansa. It’s part of his cover, too.

Now that he has a measure of believability, he grabs the cunt’s face and gets close, shining the light in his eyes, but he’s a crying mess even without the torture of the bright light. “I’ve got great plans for you,” and brushes over his genitalia with the back of his hand, making the prince attempt to shake his head no. “I will make sure you can never fuck again, just be fucked, I’ll maim you beyond repair, taking every digit off your weak body, I’ll leave you so disfigured, you’ll live the rest of your pathetic royal life in shame. You’ll be the freak, the embarrassment, and you’ll lose everything.”

“Do you want to know how you can avoid ever seeing me again except in your nightmares?” The boy just nods feebly, tears streaking his face. 

Sandor removes the gag and explains, “You will never harass Sansa Stark again, never hire someone to harass or hurt her in any way, never post anything damaging about her online or have any contact with her again, and if anything bad happens to her and I even have an inkling you’re behind it, I will come for you, and we can play some more,” he smiles menacingly at the little shit. _Gods, he wishes he had time to shear off all that blonde hair of his but it’s running out, dammit._

The boy spits out, with a little smirk, “This is about that Stark bitch, stubborn cunt, she owes me,” and Sandor’s fist connects with his face, busting his lip and breaking his nose. Sandor snarls, “Those are my terms, swear or die in a puddle of your own warm blood while getting your ass torn open,” and the prince flinches at this.

“I agree,” Joffrey reluctantly admits though it doesn’t feel satisfying to him.

“If I die, I have some friends who’ll finish the job, the ones that helped me tonight,” he grabs Joffrey and shakes him hard for effect.  _Good for him to know he’s not working alone._

Then Joffrey says cryptically, “If you see her, tell her I still enjoy watching her.” _What kind of sick shit is that about?_ He’s pretty twisted at the moment actually, but Jaime had made a good point about trying to cover it as an erotic kidnapping.

 “I was going to skip this part, but I can see you want it so bad,” he jeers at the half-naked piece of shit and puts the gag back on the squealing prince. Then he pulls Joffrey’s own leather belt loose for the next humiliation, beating his bare ass raw.*  

Brienne and Jaime assisted in getting the prince back, her playing the dominatrix in an all-black outfit and high heel boots, mask in place. She wrote in permanent marker on his body, “MINE BITCH, MISTRESS X,” and left him ball gag in, butt plug, too, and bare-ass naked at the gate of his brotherhood mansion.

He’ll never be able to convince his brothers that he was truly kidnapped and tortured because of the humiliation of having a mistress. He just wishes he had thought of it. It was Jaime’s idea, and he laughs to himself, thinking of what a pair him and Brienne make, not for the first time. Sandor just hopes it was enough and quickly is on his way back to the isle, though he may drop in and check on the little bird.

 

* * *

 

 Sitting across from Elder Brother, Sandor is just stoic. He had found he was dreading his session this month, partly cause he hadn’t completely followed the brother’s advice. There had also been a few episodes of what the old man would consider excessive force, and he had reveled in it, except for some of that butt plug shit with Joffrey. He felt like himself at these times, in his own skin, which he hadn’t felt like since his injury, and it was like a shot of whiskey for his soul, strong but warm and soothing to his mind, like his video games never quite are. This is one bonus of having Sansa as a friend, getting to beat up cunts.

“So, Sandor, how was your month?”

“Alright.” He nods.

“Do you feel the medication is strong enough? Are you able to stay in control?” the old man probes.

“Yes, I can control better, no need to change anything. Haven’t had a drink, though a bit of weed.” He admits.

“That’s alright. Any violent episodes?” the old man quirks an eyebrow.

_Gods, why does he have a fucking mind reader as a therapist._ “Yes, and I don’t regret it, and I didn’t kill anyone.”

Elder Brother sighs, “It’s important to control these urges. I don’t want you to put yourself in a position where you have to think not to kill someone.”

“Brother, these were cunts who deserved everything I gave them and more. It’s all due to this friend you had me make, she’s a magnet for douchebags.” He tries to shift the blame, and it’s not like he’s going around beating up his waiter for messing up his steak order.

“I suggested making a friend, not getting pulled into the crises of a 19-year-old woman. I would ask that you make a conscious effort to abstain from physical violence this month. Anything new with her?” The brother knows best, but Sandor knows he’s not really going to hold back if the situation warrants action.

“She’s doing okay since being attacked last week. She told me she met with the therapist you referred yesterday and seems excited about that.” She had called him after meeting her, and the little bird had gone on and on about everything she talked about and how she’d cried and found stuff out about how she grew up that affects her now and how she felt so empowered.  It was crazy, she just met her therapist and yet bared her soul and was changed. He’d been seeing Elder Brother for over a year now and they just had pretty normal conversations with advice thrown in, like he’d fucking cry over just talking about shit to his therapist. He’d walk out of here and shoot himself hopefully before that happened. 

“That’s good, I’m glad that worked out, though Melisandre can be a bit of an unusual woman,” the Elder Brother smiles. _Great, just what he needs, some weird bat putting ideas in the little bird’s head._ “You said she was attacked?” the brother looks concerned.

“Yeah, two idiots in the park held her down and kicked her dog before I got there. Hence the excessive force on my part,” he grins at the old man, but he doesn’t want to get into the details.

“Well, I’m doubly glad she’s seeing someone now. I understand you did what you needed to, but just be careful. Also Sandor, I wanted to let you know I got a response back from that specialist I told you about in King’s Landing. She seems very positive about her capacity to reduce your scarring through the skin graft procedure we discussed.”

He feels himself start to heat up inside merely thinking about it becoming more real. It was just an idea of Elder Brother’s a few months ago. Sandor glares at his therapist, “You must really want me to go on a date,” and then looks down at his hands, “Not sure if I can go through with it.”

“You know it’s not that, Sandor, I want you to really think about this. Doing this is about accepting yourself and not letting the past decide your future. If this procedure can help you do that, you should consider it is all I’m saying. Just let me know when you’re ready to make a preliminary appointment.”

Sandor just takes a deep breath, feeling on edge with his heightened blood pressure thinking about all of this. “So they have to take skin from somewhere else off my body?”

“Yes, for most successful results. It will most likely be an area usually covered by clothing like the buttocks.”   

“I’ll think about it, till next month, Brother,” Sandor nods, getting up.

“Bye, Sandor,” he hears the old man say behind him, probably knowing Sandor needs space now. So he just walks out and goes to the gun range, picks out his favorite high-powered rifle and lets out round after round. Feeling each press of the trigger jolt him and seeing the bullet penetrate his target, helps to calm him to just feel nothing. To remember that simple fact of life, you can be breathing one minute and just like that, the pull of a trigger, your heart can stop. And in the end, you’re just a speck of dust in time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: "No means yes, yes means anal," was an actual chant used by a fraternity in Yale out in the open to antagonize demonstrators for a feminist rally. Just wanted to make sure I credited them ;)
> 
> All this belongs to GRRM.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV and short Sansa POV at end: first day & night of fall break trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are staying with me after the intense last chapter! This one is probably my favorite so far with Arya and lots of Sansan feels :)! Please drop me a comment with your thoughts - Thanks!

**Sandor**

After getting back from the isle and picking up some supplies at the house, he rolls up to pick Sansa and her sister up for their trip to God’s Eye Lake. He was really shocked the little bird actually wanted to sleep outside for two nights on the island there, but it sounds like it was for her sister and they can bring all the dogs, too. Sansa had tried to insist she drive them, but luckily, he was able to talk her down, worried about being comfortable in her little car. He’s avoided having her drive him so far, and he couldn’t imagine being introduced to it for an hour plus drive.

He was looking forward to having Stranger back; he missed the old bastard, and Tess was a poor substitute at the isle. This is the longest they’ve been apart since he can remember, considering he was on all his last few missions. Coming into her apartment, he hands Tess to Sansa to avoid the inevitable hug and pets Stranger who is barking up at him in a deep tone, tail wagging, and gives Lady some pats as well, pulling out the treats he got for them.

Then, he feels Sansa’s hand on his arm, “Sandor, let me introduce you to my sister, Arya. Arya, this is Sandor.” He directs his attention over to her sister and finds a pair of gray eyes leveled back at him, sizing him up almost. He lets out a bitter chuckle, “Like what you see?” he jeers at her. He’s not sure what he expected, but this girl seems the opposite of Sansa right from the start. Short and thin, with a shock of black hair, exuding a hard exterior and tough as nails attitude. That’s right, she’s the one he reminds the little bird of, he smirks to himself, and she thinks she’s so tough, has she ever been to fucking war?

The girl crosses her arms, “All I see is a grown ass man following my sister around. Doubt I like that.” _Touché._

“Now, be nice you two. You may find you have a lot in common,” Sansa chirps, trying to ease the situation, and he looks over to see her beaming at the both of them, like they’re her two favorite strays.

“Let’s get, where’s your shit?” Sandor asks and he notices Arya tilts her head and squints at him, _what the hell is she trying to puzzle out?_

Sansa made a fuss over Stranger riding in the bed of the truck for the journey, but where else did she think he would be? He wouldn’t have even fit in her car, silly bird. So, they finally got on the road, Arya in the back with Lady and Sansa next to him with Tess in her lap, happy as can be. He reaches over to ruffle the little pup’s ears, and Sansa smiles up at him. “Do you like my new t-shirt? I got some clothes for the trip.” _Only Sansa would have to go shopping for a camping trip._

“What does it say?” he can’t really read driving, and she answers, “’You can’t buy love but you can rescue it,’ see the little paw print.”

“You got a thing for strays, huh?” he glances over at her with a smirk, wouldn’t hurt her to get some ideas in her head about dogs. She blushes a little with a small smile on her face, looking back down at Tess in her lap, _gods she’s so pretty_.

“Watch the fucking road, dude, and put some music on. I don’t want to have to put up with your _friendship_ time this whole trip,” Arya laments from the backseat, making him a bit uncomfortable.

“Do you mind if I play some music?” Sansa asks softly to him, pulling out her phone, while he shouts back at the sister, “Mind your own fucking business, and I’ll drive how I want, and you can walk there as far as I’m concerned if you try to tell me how again.”

He sees Sansa looking at him with a pleading expression at his side, so he just gives her a quick nod.

“Wait, say something again, cuss,” Arya demands in a strangely focused tone.

“What? Stop this, Arya,” Sansa whines, to which Arya just grits out, “Shut up, San, let him speak.”

“Damn, fuck, shit,” he snarls back at her, “happy now, little girl?”

Contemplative, Arya asks, unfazed, “You sound so familiar, what was that game you said he played, San?”

“Nomad,” Sansa says cheerfully, probably hoping this will bridge some kind of fucking divide between the two of them.

“Holy shit, dude, are you BigFuckinSword?” she asks, and suddenly that sharp, annoying voice of hers is all too familiar. _Shit, shit, shit, she’s NeedlePrick from his own fucking party and they’re kind of rivals, always competing for kill counts – hence the name she picked for her new character to mess with him._ He feels all the blood drain from his face as he tries to recollect everything he may have said over the mike during their raids. He grips the steering wheel hard, his knuckles turning white as he tries to stay in control.

“Are you okay, Sandor?” Sansa asks, placing her dainty, little hand on his shoulder, looking concerned. Arya cackles with laughter in the back, saying, “Oh my gods, this is too good!” and continues to laugh abrasively, like he can’t even imagine the little bird ever doing. He’s seen her get tickled before, but she’s always so girly, giggling with a hand over her mouth even, _he wonders how ticklish she is, if she has any special spots…_ Why is he thinking about that at a crucial moment like this? _Right her fucking hand on his shoulder goes straight to his cock._

Arya starts, “So, the hot redhead you’ve been spending all your time with instead of us is…” Sandor jerks the wheel, making Arya, who refused to wear a seat belt, go rolling in the back of the cab, giving him time to shoot her a death glare for a few seconds that will hopefully silence her. Instead, she gives him a look in return like she’s just going to bide her time. _Gods, he could strangle her._

“Fucking dead animal in the road, didn’t want you to see it,” he growls out. “Either of you need to take a piss?” he tries to change the subject as they pass an exit sign on the highway.

Unfortunately, the little bird is too smart, “Wait, you two know each other? Through this game?”

“You do the honors, tell her all about your sword,” Arya huffs a laugh. _Gods, he wants to tape her mouth shut._

“Yes, Sansa, we are in a party together, do some raids every now and then. No big deal, though we’ve never met before,” he tries to explain.

Sansa clasps her hands together, so happy, “What are the chances of that! Then you aren’t strangers after all, this is wonderful. Maybe you can teach me how to play, so we can all go on raids together. Wouldn’t that be great?” He shakes his head, _just great, another thing the little bird wants to do together._

“Maybe, San, but you’d need your own system. You can always watch Mr. Sword here play and listen in to see if you’d be into it and try it out on his before you commit. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind showing you the ropes. The guys would love to get to know you, I’m sure.” Arya chuckles, overly amused at this entire situation.

Pressing play, Sansa starts playing some of her music. “I hope you don’t mind, Sandor, but Sia is one of the few people Arya and I both like.” And then Sansa’s singing along, dancing in her seat a little with Tess, and egging Arya on to join her, who now has the turn to be a little embarrassed finally. She's so adorable that he keeps glancing over at her and finds he can appreciate the songs just hearing her sing them, even as she appears oblivious to the more savory nature of the revelations from her sister. He'll be lucky if she talks to him after this trip with everything Arya may divulge. 

 

* * *

 

After getting the sizable enough kayaks at the village off the lake, he helps them pack all their stuff into them. Sansa comes to him, “Can I go with you?” _Gods, he should’ve anticipated this._

“Little bird, I need you to take Tess in your kayak with most of the gear since Stranger is in mine.”

She just pouts back at him, “Is there another way?” He just shrugs, trying to think of something, “I can tow you or we can get some sort of raft to attach to the kayak if you don’t want your own. What about your sister? You can do this, ya know.”

She’s fumbling with her life vest, “Okay, I’ll try, but can we still be attached? I don’t want to get separated.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep a rope tied between us, and I can tow you if you get tired.” He moves over to check her life vest to make sure it’s on properly and brushes her hair out of the way since it doesn’t seem to bother her. “It’s good of you to try though.”

“So you’ll be proud of me?” she gives him a coy smile, those blue eyes of hers pinned to his above her sunglasses, _is she flirting with him? Gods, he wishes that sister of hers wasn’t here._

“Let’s get out there, it’s getting late in the day,” he gruffly motions to both of them.

Arya leads them out to the north part of the lake and over to the Isle of Faces. He finds himself having to drag Sansa along most of the time as she leisurely paddles along unaware of the taut line between them as she pulls out her camera to snap photos. At one point, Tess jumps out of the kayak and starts swimming in the opposite direction to which Sansa just tries to call her back. He was just like “fucking hells,” turning his kayak around but had to laugh, too, he couldn’t imagine her in an actual survival scenario.

After getting Tess, he notices Arya has already landed, not stopping for them, and starts setting up their camp. He takes his time getting there, enjoying the calm of being on the lake before having to converse with both sisters again. Most people were camped near the village, so he’s not sure if it’s even legal to be over here but fuck it. He’s with two Lady Starks anyways and sure their _daddy_ can get them out of anything.

The girls have a new tent that he helps drive the stakes for, probably Sansa’s doing, with as much comfort as can be allowed. They’ll sleep on the beach near the tree line. He drops his pack nearby with his cushion and bedroll.

Arya has hauled a bunch of wood and is starting to light it, “We don’t need such a big fire, girl,” he barks at her.

“You know you can use my fucking name, asshole,” she bites back. “Anyways, it’s a bonfire and it’s going to be glorious.”

He just starts pulling off a bunch of her branches, “At least start it smaller, you’re not the only one out here. Try to use my name or I’ll start calling you prick.” She just glares at him, “Ya know, you should really try to show some respect, I can easily make this trip more awkward for you, recounting some of your conversations in Nomad. Does she know how much you’d like to kill in real life, for instance, or how much you’d like to fuck…?” He interrupts in a low snarl, “Shut it! Be good for you not to forget that I _have_ killed, Arya, and I don’t get as many opportunities now.” He gives her his ugly grin, though he’s attempted some peace at using her name since she has a point about how much she’s potentially holding over him.

Watching the sun go down, sending warm colors across the big sky and reflecting on the lake, he sits with the sisters finishing their sandwiches as the girls talk. He sits as far from the fire as he can with Sansa between him and Arya, and jumps internally as Arya throws another log on, _Fuck that girl and her fire._

Somehow sensing his unease, Sansa vocalizes, “That’s enough for now, Arya, it’s getting unpleasantly warm. Let me get our s’mores stuff out!” She starts setting out chocolate and graham crackers and all her little items. “Don’t worry, I got vegan marshmallows, so there’s no animal gelatin,” she announces. 

“Good, I was worried about that,” he nudges her with a little smirk. She just cocks her head and purses her lips, looking up at him in a sweet reproving way. They both turn to Arya when she huffs, throwing her head back, seeming annoyed, and then glares at Sansa. He’s confused to see the little bird seem to understand, and look down at her hands, rearranging her s’mores stuff and starting to put marshmallows on metal spears for roasting.  

“Wait till it dies down a little,” he mentions to her, not wanting to watch her close to the out of control flames. _No “s’more” is worth it for him._ She just nods to him, and Arya lights up a joint, I guess he now knows where that habit of hers came from.

She hands it to Sansa who puffs on it before handing it to him. Arya pipes up, “I also brought some shrooms and a bottle of Dad’s north whiskey.” _Great, now he knows he’s on an island with a bottle of whiskey_ , he thinks as he takes a few hits before, circulating it back to the girls _._

“I don’t know about that, Arya,” Sansa speaks up, hesitant, “you know I don’t do that heavier shit anymore.” _What the fuck, little bird, you did heavier shit?_

“Shrooms are natural, Sansa, not like that shit at Joff’s parties, okay? We don’t have to tonight, but I will tomorrow. Game, Hound?”

“Only if Sansa wants to tomorrow,” he doesn’t want to pressure her at all, _hells, he’s never even done that shit. Never thought he’d be thankful the alcohol and the killing was enough for awhile._

Reasserting herself, Sansa declares cheerily, “S’mores time, here’s your marshmallow wands,” but he declines. She looks crestfallen over fucking s’mores, “Can I make you one at least?” He just nods to her. He kind of likes the flickering heat of the fire if he didn’t have such an aversion to it’s destructive capacity, and pulls out a white branch he found and starts to whittle at it to pass the time.

“Look, Arya,” Sansa points to him, “Sandor’s found a weirwood branch, I told you there might be some trees still here.”

“Cool,” Arya comes over to looks at it. “Yeah, let’s look for some trees in the morning.” He doesn’t really get their fascination, but he’s never seen wood like it before other than polished, thought it was a northern wood.

Arya lacks the patience to roast the marshmallow and just goes for the catch-it-on-fire method and just eating them straight. Meanwhile, Sansa is trying to balance her two “wands” at the right distance, even biting her lip a little in concentration.

She comes back once satisfied and kneels to arrange their s’mores, making sure his is perfect as she hands it to him and licks her finger. He feels hypnotized by her with the glow of the fire brightening her hair and her being so attentive that he doesn’t even register the s’mores she handed him.

She giggles a little, “Well, try it!” and gives him a big smile. He nearly drops the blasted thing, and then takes two bites to finish it.

“Pretty good, never had one before,” he licks his fingers and rubs them down his pants at which he can see the little bird breath in sharp, not amused with his manners. His lips just pull in amusement.

“I can’t believe you’ve never had one before,” she looks sad and he hates her pity and returns to his scowl. She looks down and starts to daintily eat hers in tiny bites, saying timidly, “I know I can’t beat Rose’s bear claws.” _What does Rose have to do with anything?_

“What are you talking about, little bird?” he asks, but Arya rejoins them before Sansa can answer, to get some chocolate.

“So you really call her ‘little bird,’ wow, just wow,” she snarks at him, making him tense up.

“Gods, Arya,” Sansa says in frustration, “I don’t even know why you bother smoking pot, you don’t chill out at all.” _Oh shit!_

“At least I’m not fucking uptight and need shit to feel normal,” Arya yells back.

Taking a play out of Sansa's book, he jumps in, “Both of you go run it off, race if you want, otherwise I’ll throw you both in the lake.”

“Fine,” Arya says and grabs a half aflame stick from the fire and takes off, the little bird trailing after her, looking determined. The dogs perk up, and run after them, though he reaches out and grabs little Tess who was gnawing a bone he brought for her. No need to have her lost in the dark.

He keeps whittling away, sees Arya’s torch in the distance stop for awhile, and hopes their just talking it out, at least he doesn’t hear screaming. He eats the rest of Sansa’s s’mores and takes Tess with him as he sets up his bedroll, laying back with the pup on his chest, playing with her biting his hands.

The sisters come back, looking in better spirits, holding their shoes from getting their feet wet in the lake, and the dogs trailing behind. “Hey Sandor, you’re not asleep are you?”

“Not quite,” he answers, “Might have you keep Tess in the tent with you.”

“Okay,” she smiles back at him, though it almost looks like she’s been crying now that’s he’s closer to her and coming back towards the fire, so he gives her a little squeeze on the shoulder. She asks, “What are you making over here? Always pulling that knife out,” she jests, and he just shakes his head as they hear Arya snort, “Gods, San,” making the little bird look down befuddled. He just gives her a pat, “Not sure yet,” he twirls the wood in his hands. He was making a sharp point, working out his stress, but not really a need for it, might as well make something else out of it, maybe a little bird.

 

* * *

 

**Sansa**

Opening her eyes to darkness after something startles her, Sansa tries to focus, but her lids fall as she’s lulled back to sleep a bit until she hears the hiss of water on smoldering coals. _Weird._ She pulls Tess off of her and steps out of the tent, hoping Arya won’t notice, and it’s pitch black except for the shining moon and the infinity of stars. She hears a distant splash near the lake, so she pads over in that direction, quietly and whispers, “Sandor, is that you?”

“Little bird,” he answers, sounding groggy and shaken almost. Now she can make him out sitting at the water’s edge as he skips another rock out into the darkness. “Go back in the tent, you’ll catch cold.” He may be right, at least she has her throw blanket around her shoulders.

“Something woke me, are you okay?” she moves closer and lowers herself down next to him. “Do you want me to make some tea or rub your back?” she asks, trying to help.

“No, you don’t have to do things for me,” he bitterly replies, and she can see him grip the rock in a fist before flinging it as hard as he can, not even bothering trying to skip it. _What is wrong with him?_

“But…” she tries to retort, but he stops her, growling, “Just go back to sleep before I upset you.”

Sansa just sits there, feeling the chill almost soothe her with its numbing kind of pain, as tears fall again. She had cried trying to explain to Arya how important Sandor is to her and how she doesn’t know if she has more than friend feelings for him, so Arya doesn’t need to ruin her friendship with him by making fun of their non-dating companionship constantly. He makes her feel safe and content, and that’s really good for her right now, why ruin it by trying to change things? Especially when she has no idea what his true feelings are and if he would ever admit them. It’s one thing to like someone or feel a bit attracted and another thing to ruin a perfectly good friendship by acting on those feelings just for it not to work out. Maybe she should talk to Melissandre about all of this next time.

The blanket slips from her shoulders, making her start to shiver, but it just feels good, like she’s suspended in time outside of herself while she’s still actually sleeping and just her subconscious is awake. She’s pulled back into reality as Sandor tugs the blanket around her, and rubs the tears from her cheeks with his big thumbs, muttering, “All I do is make you cry.”

She finds herself crying harder, wanting it to stop, but she can’t and asks defeated, “Why can’t you talk to me, Sandor?”

“I don’t know, little bird,” he replies and pulls her against his shoulder, which she welcomes and her eyes start to dry.

He pets her hair like he is want to do lately, ever since he stayed over that night, and she had woke to him lightly petting it but hadn’t wanted to reveal herself. She doesn’t mind though, it makes her feel special in a way. Then, he takes a deep breath, looking out at the dark horizon, “The fire bothered me, especially the way your sister was acting, and I had a nightmare about my burns. That’s what probably woke you.”

Feeling moved that he told her even this, she shifts to wrap her arms around his neck, whispering, “I’m sorry,” in his ear. She’s surprised and freezes a bit when he pulls her into his lap and wraps his arms around her. She squeaks, “Sandor?” pulling away a bit, but he just holds her closer, standing up to carry her. _What is going on?_

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. The little bird needs her beauty rest. Don’t want to deal with you all cranky in the morning, your sister’s enough,” he remarks in his deep, gravelly voice, seeming back to himself.

As cold as she felt earlier, she feels warmth start to radiate through her next to Sandor’s chest as he carries her back and sets her down in front of their sleeping area. But that’s nothing compared to the heat that seems to consume her whole being when he reaches out and touches her arm before she moves to the tent, “Will you…” he starts but looks down rubbing the back of his neck, then mumbles, “Sorry,” and pulls his hand away.

Confused and feeling the loss of him, Sansa reacts, “Are you…I mean, will you be able to sleep? Do you need…?” At her answer, Sandor pulls her towards him in a tight embrace, and she feels his shallow breathing against her as he leans down to kiss the top of her head. The heat coursing through her is now manifesting as a thud in her chest and trembling waves through her, making her feel like her knees could collapse under her. _Maybe this is it_ , she wonders, and her trembling doubles as Sandor’s right hand comes up to touch her face as he pulls back a little from her to lean further, but she panics, scared, and turns her face to the side. He gets the message and loosens his hold on her with a pet of her hair before turning to his bedroll.

Sandor seems pretty bewildered as she slips in next to him on his palette, understandably she must admit, but thankfully he doesn’t ask her about it. He just pulls her close under his arm and runs his fingers through her hair, working out the tangles and sending shivers along her back. She’s so aware of his every touch now that she’s not sure she’ll sleep at all. All she knows is this is her new favorite spot, cuddled up in the crook of Sandor’s arm. Sandor whispers to her, “Try to get some sleep, little bird,” and he shifts his arms to rub her shoulders, and she finds herself starting to melt into a pool of relaxation and sleep finally takes her.  


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya POV: Saturday Part I

Arya wakes up to the light coming through the tent and notices that somehow the puppy had cuddled up to her in the night. She rubs her eyes, no headache at least, they didn’t even get wrecked last night since Sansa and her had that blowout. Pulling her shorts on, she realizes Sansa is not in the tent, _oh no, please no_ , she thinks, but then hopes her sister just got up early.

Carrying the puppy out of the tent, she cringes at the sight of Sansa’s red hair flowing out of Sandor’s sleeping bag. _Ick! Gods, why did Sansa beg her to come visit if she’s going to spend all her time with him?_ She will never understand her sister or how her telling San not to judge people by their looks led to her befriending a giant, disfigured 30-year-old man, but then they act like they’re totally boyfriend-girlfriend, doing everything together and making sure the other one is okay all the time. _Can you not exist without a boy Sansa?_ Especially since her swearing off boys has led to this complicated situation. Yet all she hears from Sansa is how she doesn’t want to complicate things – like she isn’t the one causing all the complications probably but nothing could ever be her fault.

She couldn’t believe it when she had made the connection yesterday about playing with him online – he’s like the most vulgar person she knows, well sort of knows. He’s mainly in their party to help boost their performance and fill a hole, so they put up with his constant belittling, running off to kill shit, and general lack of social skills. Still, she had almost kicked him out after they heard him flush the toilet on them during his “break.” _Take your fucking headset off to use the crapper!_ They have developed a friendly rivalry over time, and he’s evidently a bit different in real life versus the game, but still, _her sister?_

Arya drops Tess on the two of them, and the pup gives a little yelp, and the evidently already awake Sandor glares up at her. She just walks back in the tent and decides to throw her bathing suit on for a swim. She’s surprised to see Sandor out there bathing, so she splashes some water at him, like she could ever dunk him under water, making him turn around to scowl at her

“Hope you don’t still have your morning wood.” She scowls back.

“Sword is down, so enjoy swimming in the lake,” he smirks, _Fuck, he jizzed in the lake._ How is her sister friends with this asshole?

“Gross, fuck you,” and she turns to leave. She hears him laugh mockingly behind her, “Just a joke, hells, you’re safe to swim.” He lowers down, floating in the shallow water, so she doesn’t have to squint up at him now at least, “Like I’d fucking do that with your sister right there. Knowing her she’d wake up and come over to ask me what the hell I’m doing.” He shakes his head frustrated but not at her.

“Well, I have no sympathy for your precarious friendship with my sister. In fact, I would like to inform you I have a special set of skills that could very well fuck up your life if you ever hurt her in any way.” She glares at him to make sure he knows she’s serious.

“Oh, like how you’ve fucked up Joffrey’s life, Liam Neeson,” he laughs hard at her attempt to threaten him.

_Motherfucker._ “How do you even know about him? Sansa told me specifically she hasn’t told you about him.” She asserts back, balling up her fists to punch the water.

“Who? Liam Neeson?” he laughs in an even more abrasive way if possible.

“No, you fucking asshole, Joffrey, the fucking prince.” She dips in the water to try and find a sharp rock to hurl at him.

“Maybe I found out, and maybe I took care of it.” He glares back at her.

“What the hell are you talking about? Took care of what?” she asks, frustrated, gripping the stone she found.

“Let’s just say I may have run into the prince when I was in King’s Landing recently.” He makes a casual hand gesture with a smirk, throwing some toy out in the water for his dog.

“And what? You don’t just run into the prince?” she grits out, not liking how he’s keeping her in the dark.

“That’s all I’m going to say about it, but nothing should happen to her anymore from him, and don’t tell Sansa about it.” He says confidently, then adds, “Throw the rock,” with a level stare just daring her.

She throws the rock to the side, losing the urge now that she knows he confronted Joff. “You should tell her. I’ll try to let you know if I see anything online. I’m glad you were able to help her out the other week when she was attacked. I did track down some of the information you took off those assholes and I think those took on the contract but it may still be out there. Anyways, have you seen your video from that party, what did you say to him?”

He shrugged, “Called him scum for pushing women around, told him to never try to contact her again. Then told him to fuck off.”

“Wow, riveting stuff,” she rolls her eyes and goes off to swim a bit, the dude can’t tell a good story to save his life. Still, she’d like to know about what happened to Joffrey, maybe she’ll have to do some searching.

After eating the breakfast Sansa fixed them and tea and getting ready for the hike, the three of them head into the wood to see how many weirwoods exist on the isle and if any old ones still stand.

She had assumed Sandor would go with them since he seems to have an affinity for following her around like a dog himself, but Sansa had gone back and forth telling him he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to and that she’d like him to come. _Gods, she forgets how annoying her sister can be about pleasing everyone._ Finally, she broke in, “San, he’s coming with us. If he’s bored that’s his problem. He came on this trip, okay. Let’s go.” Sandor looked relieved a bit at her stepping in, though Sansa was immediately tight-lipped, giving her that little prim disapproval of hers.

Hiking through the isle woods was interesting, though they’d only spotted a few of the characteristic white trees, mostly young. Not much of an isle of faces anymore. Sansa would take a moment to touch each weirwood, and pick up a leaf giving it a kiss. It was nice to see her seem relaxed and contemplative.

“It’s cool to see you so stripped down, sis. Like there’s a real person under all your lady shit, I was worried I had to be the personality in the family,” she gives her a playful nudge. It’s hard to be jealous of her sister after everything last year, seeing her careful façade crumble and how much she needed her. Sansa still can’t bear to voice her real reasons for leaving Joffrey and King’s Landing to her parents. At least it seems this Sandor has found her a therapist, thank the gods, she’d been telling her she needed help – that’s why she started her on the pot at least.

“Thanks,” Sansa seems unsure how to take it, though she defaults to courtesy mode. Then reaches over to entwine their hands as they amble along.

“Running water,” Sandor mentions, evidently picking up on something, and leads them over to where a little stream of water appears to run. “Might be spring fed,” and leads them on.

They break through a small grove of young weirwoods, which Sansa thankfully doesn’t have to touch all of them, as they follow the little stream, and up ahead is a grand weirwood spreading it’s branches skyward. The roots of the tree are a web framing a pool of water. “See there’s the spring,” Sandor motions, as if they care about that when this huge beautiful tree of their ancestors is right there. _Gods he could use an imagination._

“Oh my gods, it’s magnificent,” Sansa gasps, clutching her arm tighter and quickening her pace. Arya can admit she’s excited, too, to find something like this here, “It’s really awesome.”

As they near the tree, a cool wind flutters through, giving her a shiver up her spine, making her feel like a spirit ran through her. Sansa takes a shaky breath next to her, “Did you feel that Arya?” and Arya gives her a nod, turning to look in her eyes. Red leaves float down on them, and the tree with its spring looks a lot like the ancient tree in their godswood at home though she couldn’t make out a face. Their father had always told them about how the Starks of old came from the First Men and actually considered the trees part of their religion, but not really a religion more like a faith in the old gods, as he put it.

Sandor closes in on the pool and kneels to slip his hands in for a drink. “It’s cool, take a drink. The spring is pure.”

“Thanks Sandor,” Sansa smiles over at him, moving to take a drink as well, but Arya can see the amused curl of her lip and knows that Sansa probably thinks the same of Sandor in this moment.

“Dude, are you not marveled at this fucking amazing tree? This is no doubt the furthest south heart tree there is. It’s a miracle it still exists. We have one at Winterfell, but not that many other places as far as I know.”

He scowls at her, “Yes, it’s great, I’ve never seen anything like it really.”

Sansa goes over to him with wide eyes, lightly touching his arm and starting to explain the significance of the trees to their family, so Arya just goes over to see the tree itself and touch its bark. She tries to get her arms around it but can only get about halfway.  

“This tree is huge, San, can you believe this isle was supposed to have a number of these?” she exclaims trying to get her sister’s attention back.

“What do you mean?” Sandor asks.

“The Isle of Faces is named so because of all the ancient heart trees with carved faces in them on the isle. At least in times of old,” Sansa smiles sadly and comes over to trace her fingers along the bark next to her. “Arya, do you think this could be a face here? This side towards the spring?”

Arya looks at the gnarled bark on that side, and it’s nearly indistinguishable, the features of a heart tree face. “I think you’re right. It would make sense, but it’s so grown over with age, must have been carved centuries if not a millennium ago.”

“Sandor, your knife, please,” Sansa calmly states and holds her hand out, looking over at him. He gives her a confused look but opens his knife for her and sets it in her palm. Sansa gives Arya a spirited smile, “I’m going to fix that,” and Arya is surprised with Sansa’s zeal as she starts to carve into the tree. Sansa deftly works to re-form the sorrowful outline of the tree’s visage, and Arya smiles as she watches Sansa use all the muscle she has to deeply imprint the trunk of the weirwood with it’s eyes and mouth, even bringing more to the original design.

While Sansa works to restore the heart tree, Arya sits at the edge of the pool on an especially thick root, kicking her feet in the cool water, just enjoying being present. She should’ve brought the mushrooms here, but Sansa was too worried about not getting to go kayaking over to the waterfall and castle this afternoon if they were tripping still. Sandor has settled over next to Sansa, laying back with his arms behind his head, watching her. Sansa always was one to like attention and vain to boot because people have been telling her she’s pretty since she was born. Still, it kind of weirds her out the strange sort of intimacy between the two.

“Arya, what do you think?” Sansa beckons and she scoots over next to her, resting her head on Sansa’s shoulder. “I think you did a great job, and the heart tree has its eyes back.” At this, they both reach over to touch the tree, holding their other hands together. Sansa begins to pray, saying words their father often does and then lists the names of their family members. Arya jumps in to say, “and Sansa.” Sansa continues, “We give thanks for protecting and sustaining our family through the ages and pray for guidance and love in our lives.” As they open their eyes, blood-red sap is flowing down from the eyes her sister just carved. She dismisses it as just the carving that brought it out, but it’s weird that it’s only the eyes.

“Wow,” Sansa says in awe, and she sees her sister clasping her hands, tears starting to stream down her face. Her sister is so in touch with her emotions; it didn’t even cross her mind to cry at this. She rubs her back, “Are you okay, San?”

“Yes,” she gives her a teary smile, grabbing her hand, and then she turns to Sandor, grabbing his hand. “I love you two. Thanks for coming here, being here, so present and I feel so blessed and connected to like everything, all time in Westeros right here at this heart tree, and we wouldn’t have found it with you, Sandor.” _Gods_ , her crying in awe is one thing, teary, emotional declarations she could do without _._ Still, she looks over at Sandor, who seems frozen processing Sansa’s musings before dropping her hand, scowling deeper and standing up to move away from them.

She whispers to her sister, “I know this is awesome, San, and you got a little carried away. But you just said you loved me and him, so that’s probably weirded him out.” Sansa gasps, putting her hand to her mouth, “I did? I just meant it in a best friend kind of way, you both just mean so much to me, and I’m glad you’re both here with me, especially in this moment. Oh no, he’s probably going to shut down and be grumpy all day now.” Her sister seems distraught.

“He’ll get over it,” Arya shrugs, not really giving a fuck as they head back to camp before starting their afternoon.

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: Saturday Part II

Back at the campsite, Sansa is so exhausted after hiking around the isle all morning and then kayaking by the waterfall on the west side of the lake and over to where the castle ruins are, taking photos of everything. Harrenhal was really cool and they took about an hour walking around the crumbling castle that was once the largest in Westeros though she wouldn’t want to be there at night, it just has a creepy vibe to it. Crazy to see the stones actually melted by dragon fire. Still hard to believe such creatures ever existed. She can’t complain too much about being tired since Sandor had allowed her to share his kayak this time, saving her from rowing too much.

“Hey Lady, Hey Tess,” she pets them, helping Sandor get the dogs off their long leashes, which were connected to a stake to keep them around the camp. They both vie for her attention, and she relaxes at how at ease and simple things are with her pups.

Sandor has been so distant ever since the heart tree and her stupid slip about loving them, at least Arya had realized what Sansa did – _those two don’t even know how similar they can be!_ She’d kicked herself figuratively all day, but in a way, she didn’t want to take it back. She had tried to explain to him while they were rowing along, that she just meant that she cared about both of them a lot and had gotten carried away with how mystical the experience with the heart tree was. And also that Sandor and her sister were really helping her move on from her experiences last year and that means a lot to her. Being curt, he had responded, “Whatever you say, little bird,” trying to avoid more rambling from her, no doubt.

“Let’s wait on the fire, Arya, if you still want to do the shrooms. The sun will be up for a few more hours at least anyways.” Sansa tries to coax her, and she knows Sandor wouldn’t want to if they had a fire. She feels nervous, but she knows Arya thinks she’s lame enough already and they are kind of natural.

Arya splits her magic mushrooms between them as Sansa sets some apples out and starts peeling an orange. Sandor speaks up, “You two go ahead, someone should be sane.”

Arya laughs at him, “Gods, I knew you didn’t have the balls, we’re on a fucking island, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Of course you think that, you’re like fifteen or something, so you’re brain isn’t even all there yet,” he shoots back.

“Sandor, it’s not a big deal, we don’t have to,” she kind of feels a bit relieved, but then he just picks up some of the mushrooms her sister set out, placing them in his mouth, glaring at her sister.

Arya just laughs triumphant before starting to eat hers. _What did she miss?_ Sansa looks down at the remaining few shrooms, takes a deep breath, reaches out to put them in her mouth and starts to chew them. It’s a weird, plain, dry taste, and she tries to get through it quickly. She eats some orange segments next, noticing a slight tremble in her hand from her nervousness, but she decides to translate it to excitement and be open to what may come. “Orange?” she gestures to her companions, and they each take some, Arya rolling her eyes at her.

“Let’s swim while we wait for it to kick in!” Arya exclaims, taking off her shorts to strip down to her swimsuit. She slumps, feeling so tired.

“Fine, be boring,” Arya jokes before jogging out to the lake, egging the dogs on to join her.

“Tired, little bird?” Sandor leans back lazily with a yawn, looking like a big, burly bear stretching his huge arms out before propping them under his head like he had at the weirwood earlier.

Covering her own yawn, she smirks, “I guess it’s contagious,” and looks down at her hands, playing in the sand. It was so comforting to sleep next to him last night and knowing she was comforting him, so she goes over and lies next to him with her head on his broad chest feeling his deep breaths rise and fall as she draws circles on him. She feels his fingers play with the ends of her hair, and it’s nice to just rest like this and not have to say anything really.

She must’ve taken a little nap because when she opens her eyes again she feels dizzy, and everything is incredibly bright. She sits up too fast, muttering, “I need like dark glasses,” but something has her by the hair and she almost falls over. She feels large, strong hands move to her side to stabilize her and realizes it must be Sandor.

“Little bird, don’t try to fly away,” and then he’s petting her hair but more intently than usual. She looks behind her to see him holding part of it with one hand while his other pulls up a single strand of hair to inspect it closely before moving on to the next, almost like he’s counting them and keeping stock. She reaches her hand out toward his face because his scars look they’re moving on his face, like they’re alive, and she wants to trace her fingers over them. Before she can get to him, his eyes widen like he doesn’t recognize her hand before biting at it.

“Ow, what the…? Sandor?” She pulls back trying to loosen his hold on her hair but to no avail. She looks back out toward the lake and sees the beginning of the sunset, and there are light pink waves all over the surface, and she feels the sudden urge to drift around in the pink and yellow sea. “Take me to the sea, Sandor,” she commands him, giving him her serious expression.

He stops and looks up to her, “Of course, to the sea,” and picks her up to walk to the lake edge. Arya’s laughing at them in the lake, spinning around and kicking the water before making a big splash as she falls. Sansa feels like she’s seeing it in slow motion because it’s like she can see every single water droplet, reflecting every color of the sky as it drifts up around her sister’s form before all falling back in one fluid movement.

Forgetting she’s still in Sandor’s arms, she reaches out to catch some of the water though it’s too far and falls out of his grip. Sandor dives to save her and then they’re both awkwardly lying in the shallows of the lakeshore. “We’re in the sea,” she says childlike, moving her arms around like she would to make a snow angel. Stopping to just lie in the shallow water, Sansa feels the gentle sway of the water all over her body, drifting, as she peers up at the pink-tinged sky with puffy clouds of bunny rabbits hopping across it.  Then, she points her toes like she’s dancing on pointe and rolls around in the water, letting out a whine as she hits a hard stone.

Sansa gets up and joins hands with her companions on either side of her still in the lake, kicking her legs up like a showgirl, “Let’s dance!” Sandor surprises her by pulling her close to him in the hold she had taught him though he still steps awkwardly through the water leading her, but she can’t help but be charmed by the sensation. He guides her into the little spin she had taught him, and she adds a flourish to it, letting go of his hand, proclaiming, “We’re dancing in the sea,” reaching her hands up to the sky and marveling at the intense colors as the sun sets like a flower opening, each petal more brilliant than the last, sending colors all around them.

“Don’t ruin my trip, you guys!” Arya whines, pulling her back down, and she must look hurt because Arya asks her to sing their song, “Chandelier.” She attempts to skip through the shallow waters back onto the beach, and Arya meets her there as they belt out, “1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3, drink, 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3, drink.” Arya is making her weird hand movements before spreading all her limbs out and dancing around like that. Arya sings, “Throw ‘em back, til I lost count.”

Then, Sansa sings her favorite part, “I'm gonna swing from the chandelier, from the chandelier,” as she pirouettes barefoot across the beach. She feels so free and continues to sing the song she knows by heart as she comes back to where Arya is still fooling around. They take hands and dance around singing their part together again. After exhausting herself, she sits down at the shore, watching the gentle lap of the lake against her feet, mesmerized by the different colors reflected. Arya keeps turning her lighter on and off, staring into the little flame.

Sandor had been playing with the dogs in the water but comes to sit next to her to pick up where he left off with her hair, and she smiles in amusement at him. He even growls in irritation, trying to untangle the wet strands. It reminds her of that fort he had got so focused on building in her living room, and she leans against him. They all stay there for a while, hearing the barks of the dogs, and watching the sun go down. It’s like she can really see it change color and she points this out to Sandor as it occurs, personifying the different colors and creating a story out of it. When night starts to blanket their camp, she’s surprised at how much light she can still see, the stars are truly shining to her, and she swears she sees faces in them like she never has before and just feels connected to the whole universe.

They are broken from the tranquil end of their trip by a bright spotlight on them and a motorboat fast approaching their camp. Stranger starts barking savagely, and she gets really scared, her heart pounding, as she tries to hide behind Sandor.

“Sandor, save me,” she pouts, holding onto his back, feeling like a million ants are trying to drag her away. She’s not watching but she hears some man order them to leash the dog and come out where he can see them. Sandor gets up, her clinging to his back still as he calms Stranger and leashes him back to the stake for that purpose as well as the other two dogs. Back towards the man, and the blinding light, he pulls her around under his arm to face the man and she peeks up to see three people.

Arya is glaring at the intruders but standing on the other side of Sandor, opening and closing her lighter and kicking the sand. “Leave us alone, assholes,” she yells at them.

“Calm down,” Sandor grits at Arya, and Sansa whimpers more, burrowing into his side.

She’s muttering, “Please don’t let them take me,” and feeling so on edge, and then suddenly the waves of nausea hit her, and she turns to throw up away from Sandor. Gods, she feels awful, everything is spinning and the lights don’t go off when she closes her eyes, and her stomach is turning inside out in a cramping pain.

She can barely make out the intruders explaining themselves, “Hello, I am the ranger for this park and was notified of people trespassing on the isle overnight and I have not issued any permits for such an activity. Here with me are Officers blah blah blah…” One of the others asks in a female voice, “What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s like nauseous, it happens,” Arya says as way of explanation.

“Are you all on something?” the other male officer asks, perceptive.

Arya and Sandor don’t answer, so she tries to recover, standing back up. “We had found some mushrooms on the isle and I thought they were a kind I’ve eaten before, but evidently that had a different effect when we added them to our salad,” she lies as best as she can. 

“Who are you and what is the man doing here? Explain yourself,” the female officer directs a suspicious gaze on Sandor who just seems to be taking it all in.

Sansa jumps in before the others can get them in more trouble, trying to use her most gracious tone that she can process, “How rude of me! I am Lady Sansa of House Stark at your service,” she answers with a little, wobbly curtsy, “and this is my sister, Lady Arya Stark, and our bodyguard, Sandor Clegane. I’m sure my father will be able to clear this up.” The ranger and officers seem to visibly shift at this knowledge, not sure to take her serious or not. Sandor meanwhile just glares down at her.

The male officer sighs, “I think it’s best if we take you three in to sleep this off and to keep you under observation.”

“What?” she reacts, hearing some variation of “no” from her companions. Sandor jumps in, “We will be gone in the morning, we can’t leave the dogs out here.”

The ranger interjects, “All their stuff needs to be gone, too, dogs included.”

“We’ll take care of that in the morning,” the male officer brushes off, “we need to confirm that you are who you say you are. Woods, check for contraband on the girls. Ranger, with me.” Pulling out his flashlight, the male officer turns to Sandor, patting him down and pocketing his knife, before telling him to put his hands behind his back.

Sandor balks, “No cuffs, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The man answers, “Just zip ties for transport, do not resist, sir,” and Sandor relents, grimacing. The female officer, checks them, finding simple possession on Arya for pot, which is a small fine in Westeros. Thankfully they ate all of her mushrooms, so no more possession of that, even though she doesn’t understand how any plant or fungus can be against the law anyways.

The sisters get zip ties, too, and the officers check to make sure the dogs are secure before getting them into their boat, explaining that they are being taken in for being under the influence and trespassing to be taken to jail overnight. Sansa cannot believe this is happening, she’s going to jail! Why didn’t she think about whether the Isle of Faces really allowed camping or not? She hadn’t even thought about how no one else was out there, and it was awesome, too, being out there in the middle of God’s Eye. She’s just a whimpering mess next to Arya in the boat, and they’re all quiet trying to process everything while feeling the last effects of their trips turned bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note I have never taken shrooms myself, but I've had a number of friends describe it to me and there's the internet. Sorry if it seems off :)
> 
> This chapter is also known as 'I like to imagine Sandor high and even whacked out on shrooms.' :)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV: The Aftermath

Sandor can’t believe the fucking shit-storm last night ended in – being taken into custody, having to leave their dogs on the isle, being locked up all night in the drunk tank with all those vomiting cunts because he was ‘under the influence of something,’ and not knowing how he’s going to get the girls and him out of all this. He hopes the girls are faring alright, at least they have each other. He couldn’t imagine Sansa in here alone.

He had tried to communicate with them on the way, but the other two were so out of it. Still, he hopes they don’t get their parents involved. Arya had seemed paranoid, her eyes darting around, while Sansa was just crying and whimpering, consumed with her own desperation. He had called Elder Brother in the middle of the night, and the old man was there that morning getting him out. Sandor hated for him to see him like this and he was going to owe him big, but it was a huge help. He’s paying all the fines they incurred and working with them to get their dogs and stuff from the isle, but the officer is trying to say they can’t release the girls.

“What do you mean you can’t release them? You don’t have anything else on them!” he snarls at the woman, and the brother next to him is trying to calm him down. It’s been a trying ten hours so far, and the sleep deprivation alone is wearing him thin.

“Lord Stark has requested we keep them in custody until he is here to pick them up around noon.” Sandor feels a cold fear grip him at this, _hells, their fucking lord father is coming here!_

He looks to Elder Brother who tries to give him a reassuring smile, and he’s doubly glad for the old man’s presence today as he rubs his hand over his face, not knowing what to do about this development. “Let’s get the dogs and stuff off the Isle of Faces and then will take what’s next,” the brother points out and that’s as good a plan as any, so he just nods and they set off to do that. 

He answers his phone to hear Sansa ask him, “Sandor, are you still here?” as Elder Brother and him are heading back to the station to check on the girls after getting everything loaded up and returning the kayaks. A lot of shit to do in one morning, but he’s just running on adrenaline and will probably pass out when he gets home.  

“Yeah, I’m assuming your father’s here and you’re out now. They wouldn’t let you leave earlier, but I have everything off the isle, including our pups, and I’m almost back to the station.”

“Yeah, thanks for handling the fines. I need to pay you back,” she starts timidly.

He cuts her off somewhat harshly, “Don’t talk about money right now.”

Sounding exhausted, she responds, “Okay, um, my dad’s asking to meet you, could we all get some food in the village together?”

He feels a little bad for the state she’s in, blaming himself, and doesn’t have the heart to make this any harder on her. “Fine, just tell me where. The Elder Brother is with me.” He resigns himself to his fate and is not going to be a fucking cunt and run from it – that would just make the unavoidable disapproval worse.

“Oh, okay, I’ve always wanted to meet him. Is there something close by?” she asks unsure.

Sandor looks around, seeing some kind of café, and not caring, just parks on the side of the road telling her where to meet them.

Leaving the dogs in the back of the truck and sitting down at a table for five, he’s both relieved and irritated that Elder Brother is with him because a huge part of him wants to guzzle whiskey or anything really to take the edge off this meeting that’s about to occur, but the last thing he needs to be is drunk to meet their lord father. Plus he hates for the old man to see the shit go down that whatever his fucking life is right now.

Meeting Sansa’s father was previously a distant concern, but now it’s going down at a fucking run-of-the-mill café after being locked up with his daughters last night. He couldn’t imagine a worse scenario, and he’s not even dating her yet just inching towards that goal. Plus there’s no telling what kind of story Sansa has spun to her father in the mean time.  

Sipping his coffee, waiting for the inevitable, he sees the girls enter with their hair braided like they’d just had a sleepover but not in jail, Sansa looking for him. He holds his hand up to get her attention, and they head his way with a stern-looking man in tow, fitted up in tailored clothes. The girls are both downcast and quiet for once with a quick greeting as he stands, Sansa giving him a tight-lipped smile, but he can tell that seeing their father after everything has particularly shamed them, even Arya.

Their father grimaces, “So, I finally get to meet this bodyguard I hired for you girls,” and just eyes him warily. He can sense Sansa about to chirp some more nonsense, so he beats her to it. “Sandor Clegane,” outstretching his hand, “and I’m a friend of your daughters’. Lord Stark, I apologize for my part in this regrettable situation and the inconvenience for you.” He can see Sansa’s wide-eyed shock at his statement, but he’s got some ground to cover to get out of this shit. Arya looks like she could burst out laughing if she wasn’t in enough trouble. Elder Brother had suggested trying to apologize rather than just not giving a fuck, though that’s how he feels.

Moment of truth, the lord shakes his hand, giving a curt nod, “Sandor, Ned Stark.”

Sandor continues, “I would like to introduce the Elder Brother of the Quiet Isle.” Lord Stark shakes the Elder Brother’s hand, who returns a warm smile. “Elder Brother, this is Lady Sansa and Lady Arya,” he introduces the girls, and it’s so weird being so formal, and he hates it. “Coffee? Not much else in this town,” and just takes his seat back, coffee in hand to keep it occupied. Sansa on the end of the table between him and her father while Arya joins the Elder Brother on the other side of the table.

Sansa tries to pat his hand to reassure him, but he wants to snarl, _don’t touch me in front of your father who greatly distrusts me at the moment!_

Elder Brother breaks the ice, “Wonderful to meet you all. I’m particularly glad to make your acquaintance, Lady Sansa, as I have heard much about you, and I was also glad to hear you have met Melisandre.”

“Yes, thank you, she is very helpful,” she replies, smiling in a forced way, and her father just looks at her as if he doesn’t know her. “Who is this Melisandre?” Ned questions her, still on edge.

“Father, she is a counselor like the Elder Brother who gives me advice on occasion,” she explains timidly. The waitress comes by, and they all order some arbitrary dishes and more coffee.

Arya is just playing with her napkin not paying attention and just getting through, but Sansa tries to make conversation, “So, Father, how are your meetings in King’s Landing going?”

“Fine,” he answers with a frustrated sigh, “Robert would like to see you girls, so I may bring you back with me,” he mentions casually.

Arya’s head pops up looking bewildered and upset, and he can see Sansa shake slightly at this and look down, swallowing hard, but she answers in a civil tone, “I would rather return to Maidenpool with Arya, I have some work to do for school, and I think another time would be better.”

“Oh, your car’s here, too, I didn’t think of that,” Ned shrugs.

“Um, we took Sandor’s truck here,” Sansa says quietly, bracing for potential issue from her father.

Ned glares at him, but answers his daughter, “Well, I think it would be better for you to come with me. I know you don’t want to see Joffrey, but he’s gone on his fall break. Robert would like to talk to you about it, if there’s anything he can do to help.” _Who is Robert?_

“Why can’t he just let it go?” Arya huffs, exasperated.

“Not now, Arya,” Ned grits out, elbows on the table over his coffee, then directs back to his eldest daughter, “Seriously though, he’s threatened…” saying the rest in her ear. Sandor tenses up at seeing tears start to crowd her eyes as Sansa mutters, “I don’t want to talk about this,” and then stands up to walk away.

“Seriously, Dad!” Arya yells at her father before getting up to follow her sister, yelling behind her, “We’re not going to King’s Landing!”

The food is served now, and he feels bad about the girls but goes ahead and eats while it’s hot. He notices the old man do a quick prayer before he starts, and Ned mutters, “Daughters,” with a deep breath and snort, looking at both of them before picking up his sandwich for a bite.

“So, Sandor, I remember who you are now after they jogged my memory at the station, the Hound who refused the knighthood a few years back. However, I don’t know what you do now and how you know my daughters.” Ned levels at him.

Sandor sets his fork down, choosing to avoid focusing on his history, he address the questions, “Lord Stark, I’m in the Reserves now after my injury. Elder Brother here saved my life,” he nods to the old man who gives a small smile, his eyes warm, “Now I train dogs for the government mostly. I play a game online with your youngest daughter, and Sansa, I met in Maidenpool through our dogs.” He tries to keep it short and sweet, weird to think he’s actually ‘known’ Arya longer than Sansa but only through Nomad.

The lord seems to just digest this information while he’s working on his sandwich. “What happened last night and why were you there?” _Gods, that’s a loaded question._

He feels so stupid now for eating those shrooms, but whatever, he’ll own up to it. “Magic mushrooms. Ranger and two police officers came concerning trespassing on the Isle of Faces. We were brought in due to being under the influence. There was no need for you to come, I paid the fines and got our stuff, and I’ll take the girls and dogs back to Maidenpool today.”

Ned gets heated, “No need to come! So you call this under control? Who do you think you are? These are my daughters we’re talking about, two ladies who were in jail last night, and you, the Hound, were involved. Of course, I came straight away.” Ned continues in a lower, threatening voice, looking him intently in the eye and chasing any appetite Sandor had away, “I’m not a fool, I know why you are here with my daughters, at least with one of them, and I do not like it. If this is the influence you have on them, I ask you now to stay away from them.”

Sandor tries to shrug it off and feel nothing, but the shame creeps in around the edges. It gets to him and makes him question all of this bullshit. He’s the fool, doing everything the little bird says, hoping for more when she just uses him to comfort her and be her companion. His thoughts turn bitter, circulating around how he’s nothing more than a human dog to her no matter what she says otherwise, to play fetch, pet, and even curl up to on occasion but that’s all it will ever be.

The girls come back at this time, Sansa red-eyed, and he must look shaken because Sansa puts her hand on his shoulder and asks if he’s okay, but he just flinches, not answering her. “Your food, Lady Sansa,” he points out to her, distant. She seems hurt, but he can’t do this anymore.

After they finish with the café, they’re all outside splitting up, and Sandor needs to take the Elder Brother to his car but first has to figure out what’s going on with the sisters. He sees Sansa give Ned a hug and him sternly lecturing her, glancing in his direction. He gives Arya a hug, too, but just seems resigned to Arya doing whatever she’s going to do, and heads over to his car. The girls seem to have won out on their stubbornness to not go to King’s Landing.

Elder Brother comes up to him, patting his back, “I’m sorry about all of this, Sandor, it’s really a shame this had to happen, but you handled it well. Their father does not seem very aware of the details of his daughter’s lives and is taking it out on you because he sees you as a threat.”

“I’m sure that all makes sense, brother, but it doesn’t change anything, and you have nothing to be sorry about,” he replies bitterly. All he can focus on is that he’s a thirty-year-old fucking man and just had some man not much older than himself telling him to stay away from his daughters. And it makes him feel like shit.

He drops off the brother at his car at the station, and the girls are all mopey feeling the weight of their father’s disappointment. Sansa sadly pets Tess in her lap, and they’re all in the same position they left but the mood is much more sober.

Sansa looks over at him, still pouting, “What was it my dad said to you?” He was anticipating this but still doesn’t know what to say.

“Said to stay away from you and your sister,” he says bluntly, too tired to say anything else.

“What? How dare he say that and also try to make me go to King’s Landing?" Sansa whines, upset again and only seeing how it affects her.

Arya butts in, “Dad just doesn’t get it, San, and he’s not going to unless you tell our parents everything. And then who knows, but at least they’ll be more understanding of our hate towards your ex.”

“You don’t even know everything, sister, and it’s not like you let them in on everything either,” Sansa bats back. “I’ll tell you about what Dad told me later.”

“Oh, okay, since you keep secrets from Sandor,” Arya snarks.

“Gods, Arya, it’s not that, you know Dad likes to keep stuff in the family. Anyways as long as I can avoid all of that I will be okay,” Sansa sighs frustrated.

“Right, put your head in the sand,” Arya snarks.

“Will you two stop it? I’d rather listen to your bitch music than hear all this, especially if you’re not going to tell me what the fuck is going on,” he snarls, wishing he was alone.

“Sandor, that wasn’t very nice, don’t be upset,” she coos to him softly, looking over at him with her big blue eyes, sad, “you’re not going to avoid me now are you?”

“No,” he admits, like he’d succeed at that, but he still feels a new cold distance between them, knowing he can’t be so invested in her after that bit of reality from her father. He’s trying to think who Robert is and how that would be related to Joffrey until it hits him – _can’t be the fucking king they’re talking about like they know him? Probably is, hells._ Sansa’s a real lady that’s for sure, and the king even wanted her to marry his son. King Robert should just call her his heir and end it there. The whole country would worship her. Sandor thinks about how he needs to focus on getting Tess in shape for her future job, getting his raids in, putting his arsenal together and survival preparations. Maybe he should spend more time out at the isle, too, getting in better shape.

“Now I have a good reason to kick you out of the Nomad party since my dad wants you to stay away from us, especially after all the other shit you’ve pulled,” Arya declares smugly.

He just growls back at her, “Fuck you, if you kick me out, I’ll just claim a vendetta against you all, slaughtering you at every turn and stealing your shit,” he threatens holding his fist up at her, “Vengeance is my shit, so fuck it, kick me out, that sounds a lot more fun anyways, hunting down all you cunts.”

“Fucking hells, man, chill out! I wish the cops hadn’t taken all my stash because you need some grass, dude. Wasn’t like serious, man,” Arya responds, eyeing him like he’s insane.

“Sandor!” Sansa whines, “What is your deal? Are you okay?”

He just tries to master himself, taking a deep breath and releasing his fist to rub his temples, “Just been a long night and day, dealing with all this shit and then add your lord father to it, and I could use some silence driving back.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with all of this and were in jail all alone. Thanks, Sandor,” and she moves over to rest her head on his shoulder as far as she can reach in his truck. _How can she still be so sweet when he’s at his worse?_ He feels all of his anger draining out of him at her gesture, so he just wraps his arm around her and adjusts to touch her hair, though it’s all braided up, so he just plays with the end of it as he gets them back home.

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: Week after Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for self-harm at end of this chapter, asterisks are included around this section.
> 
> Also, Sandor being an asshole warning :)

Writing in her new journal with Lady perched next to her, Sansa recounts her week while spending a lazy Saturday morning in bed. A part of her therapy is to adopt journaling, so she picked out a particularly adorable diary with a little bird on it to start writing in to help chronicle her thoughts and actions to reflect on in the present and look back on in the future or something like that according to Melisandre. Her therapist is an interesting woman who does not appear to share much in common with the Elder Brother, but she has an arresting ability to pick up on things and divine truths about situations in ways she hadn’t thought of in the past.

The week after getting back from God’s Eye, Sansa had not seen Sandor much. She had hung out with Arya for another day before she flew back and caught up on her schoolwork. They were off their routine this week, and he had seemed so tense and exhausted heading back that day, so she’d been trying to give him space but it still felt weird to not have heard anything from him. She had lunched with Margaery, Mya, and Randa during the week but didn’t have plans for the weekend, and then she was going to have dinner with her uncle last night, but he had bailed on her for being out of town on business.

Last night, Sansa had brainstormed some ideas for her final project, not coming up with much and had watched an old favorite movie with Lady, but it just felt different. She had felt all alone like no one would notice if she disappeared, not sad as much as empty, and that she was never going to have anyone she can rely on. It was especially hard because Sansa still tried to avoid going out of the apartment a lot since her attack except for necessities, so she felt kind of cooped in. 

Talking to Melisandre during her session, Sansa had brought up Sandor, and her therapist seemed to respond with a knowing sort of disappointment on her features. “What is it you would like to know, Sansa? Though know I do support your original plan to not date for a year.” Melisandre responded with her steady gaze.

“I guess I just don’t know what to do. I’m not sure if I have feelings for him, or if he returns them, how serious they are. But then I’m scared of anything changing, but it seems to be changing anyways. He would’ve kissed me Saturday if I hadn’t panicked,” she remembers biting her lip with a slight warmth to her face at that admission.

Melisandre answered her, “Sansa, I understand you wanting to feel safe and not alone right now, but you need to focus on yourself, meaning personal growth and self-reliance, and we’re going to work on goals to get you there.” Sansa just sighed in response, knowing that she doesn’t really like being on her own as this year was showing her.

Her therapist continued, “Since you seem focused on this Sandor, I will tell you this. Do not doubt he cares for you. Telling truths is the hewn stone of trust that all relationships are built on.” She nodded at Sansa, gracefully picking up her burning sage to waft the smoke trail into the air between them. “Breath it in, it will purify your energy." She tried to but all it did was make her throat dry and need to cough.

Melisandre further explained, "So if you think there is something he is hiding or questions you have about him, it may be beneficial to ask now that you’re friends so that you can identify any red flags before you consider moving forward.”

“Okay,” she answered, not sure she processed all of that.

“Sansa, tell me, how have you been considering the recent attack? What have you been thinking this past week?”

Feeling a little tremor, she tried to keep her composure, “Um, I guess I feel really afraid all the time and that I don’t know when the next attack will be, so I’ve been keeping to my apartment.”

“Good that you can verbalize that fear,” Melisandre replied. “If I say ‘slut’ to you, what does that mean?”

Sansa flinched at this word, feeling her breath shallow, “It’s a bad word,” she cried, putting her head in her hands, somehow reverting to feeling like a child.

“Sorry, love,” Melisandre answered, pulling out tissues for her. “For one, you are not a slut, and I want to hear you say that.”

“I’m not a slut,” she mumbled as she wiped her nose on the tissues.

“Also, know the purpose of that was to shame you, but you will not be shamed, will you, Sansa? Because there’s nothing wrong with being a slut either. These are just ways society tries to make women ashamed of ourselves and our own sexuality. Do you understand, dear? You are not at fault, you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Yes, I do,” she cried, and she looked up to see Melisandre purse her lips before moving over to rub her back, though there was not a maternal warmth in her touch.

“I know it’s a lot to process, we’ll end session today, is there anything else you wanted to talk about?” She just shook her head, leaning into her therapist, who responded, “Alright, remember to get your journal and practice your breathing exercises.”

Sansa was so drained after that – it seemed like every time her brain processed that word it was Joffrey yelling it at her and laughing. Sitting in her bed after finishing her journal entry, she pulls her knees to her chest, feeling like a little girl, before reaching over to grab her phone to call Sandor. It’s been long enough. 

He picks up on the fourth ring, “Yeah,” he sniffs audibly, seeming occupied.

She sighs, having expected more – _this is the man she thinks likes her?_ “Sandor, hey.”

“What’s up?”

She stammers, “I just wanted to see if I could come over?” _Why is this awkward?_

“Uhh,” he draws out, and she hears some rustling, “in an hour or something? Bring Lady, I need to work with her.”

“Okay, of course,” she replies, not understanding his distant demeanor as she sees the call clear on her screen. It’s like he hadn’t even thought of her till she called just now. He had said he wasn’t going to avoid her after what her dad said, but maybe it affected him more than he admitted? She tries to think of a reason other than him hating her now.

In an hour, rain had started coming down, so she just drove over there with Lady. As he held the door for her, she questions, “Not sure we can work with Lady with the weather?”

“Yeah, you should’ve called, we could’ve done this tomorrow,” he shrugs not looking at her and sitting back down on the couch.

At his response, Sansa tries not to react to the hurt that pulls at her inside, why does he seem to not care? “Is there something wrong? We always hang out on Saturdays,” she says to him, though it sounds weak to her own ears.

He looks her in the eye seeming wary, before scratching the back of his head and shrugging and that’s all the answer she’s going to get. She could start crying right now, asking him why he doesn’t care about her, but she tries to hold it in.

“Sandor, can we talk? There’s some things I went over with my therapist that I thought I’d ask you,” she tries to smile but it’s forced.

“Alright, sit down,” he eyes her, not blinking, in control of himself and ready to defend. She’s getting better at reading him, but he can still be intimidating, especially when his eyes get that steel quality.

Taking a seat on the other end of the couch, she’s not quite sure how to start, and to her comfort, Lady stays nearby, probably sensing her unease. “Your friendship has come to mean a lot to me,” she takes a deep breath, resting her hand on top of Lady’s head, “especially as I’ve been going through a lot and then trying to settle in here, and I’ve come to trust you a lot.” She can hear Sandor exhale in a harsh breath, sounding frustrated, not knowing where she’s going, so she goes on, “And I just wanted to ask you if there was anything you were keeping from me or if I could ask you something that’s been on my mind.”

“What the seven hells is this about? You say you trust me and then ask if I’m hiding something in the same breath? Fuck me,” he reacts upset and at the end gets up to walk into his kitchen. She hears a thud and him curse, so she follows him to see if he hurt himself.

He’s nursing his foot as he scrambles over to the refrigerator rummaging through it before settling on a soda. “Want something?” he asks over his shoulder, and she replies, “No thank you.”

He moves over to the table, popping the top, and she moves to sit in the chair by him, rambling, “Sandor, it’s not that at all. I just am not sure about some things, and I know I’d like to know more about you and just want us to be honest with each other.” To which, he breaks in with a bitter sounding snort, “Go ahead and say whatever it is you have to say, I don’t have all day.”

“Why are you being like this?” she whines, feeling the tears brim and turns away from him and puts her head on the table, her hair spreading out all around her, curling up from the damp outside. She hears him finish his soda and then feels him lightly pet her hair before saying in a more empathetic tone, “What is it, Sansa?” pulling his hand back.

She looks up at him, wiping at the few tears, “It’s just I feel like we’re closer now after last weekend and even before that, and I thought you might tell me about your family or how you got your scars.” She feels herself tense up, paralyzed, as she watches him transform before her eyes from the disengaged and for a moment less harsh Sandor to what must be the Hound with a dangerous look in his eyes that’s never been directed at her before, burning through her, from what she thought was a simple request.

Trying to backtrack, she pleads, “I’m sorry, I just wondered why your burns weren’t treated with skin grafts, especially being on your face. That’s been modern medicine for a while. We don’t have to talk about it. You can ask me anything. Sandor, please, don’t do this!” She feels desperate as a hard mask covers his features, and fear grips her as her heart beats faster.

Though bracing herself for his wrath, she’s surprised at the derision he throws at her, “So you want to be honest, want to know more about me, but then you’re just going to flit away like the little bird you are.” She looks down to avoid his hard stare to see him clench and unclench his fists.

Sandor adds in a grating tone, “Honest then, like you are with me since you’ve told me everything about what happened to you and this ex of yours? Like how you kept from me that you're a real fucking lady? Honest like how you turned away from me last Saturday and then crawled into my sleeping bag? I really am just a dog to play with, aren’t I? And now I find out what you want to change next, to get me to fix my face, so I’m a prettier dog for you. Well, I’m tired of your shit!” He crumples his coke can and throws it across the room, making her jump in her chair.

She wants to run, but she wants him to understand that he’s perceiving everything wrong, _what is he thinking of her?_ “That’s not what I mean at all! Please don’t be angry with me, Sandor,” she begs. Then growing timid and looking at her hands in her lap, a blush probably coloring her, she confesses, “And I think I may have some feelings for you, but I don’t really know, but…”

He breaks into her attempt to explain herself, “But I’m an ugly bastard, I know. I been like this almost my whole life,” he points to his face, “and I’m tired of your fucking farce, girl. I may be a dog but that doesn’t mean I like being used.”

He stands up now, continuing to bark, “And I’ve been a very useful hound for you – you want to know why I was really in King’s Landing?” He doesn’t wait for her to respond, “Could’ve taken those dogs any other time or had someone else take ‘em. No, I paid a visit to your old prince, tied him up, gagged him, beat him some, gave him a taste of his own fuckery, and left him humiliated and naked at the gate to his brotherhood. All of that was so he’d never hurt you again and if he does, he gets to look forward to another visit. How do you like that secret, princess? I’m sure you wanted to hear all about that.” She's too stunned to try and respond at all as he rambles on in his snarling, deep voice, “But no, you don’t care about that, all you care about is your princess life and making everything perfect and pretty. Well, I’m a fucked up asshole, who likes to drink and fight and fuck more than anything, and this is the only face I’ve got so live with it.” He turns from her, and she can see his hands tremble a bit on the counter.

She doesn’t know when she started crying, but her face is wet. She’s blown away by his confession and him figuring out her ex is the prince that it renders her speechless. She feels a heavy weight compressing her from his verbal onslaught and his warped view of her. _How he thinks she’s just playing with him, how he thinks she’s trying to change him?_ “Sandor, please, you don’t understand, I wasn’t trying to do these things you’re accusing me of." She gets up and advances to his side.

With a gruff dismissal, he bites, “Save it for someone who gives a fuck. I don’t need your fake words.”

“I’m not lying!” she cries out in desperation, clutching his forearm.

He wrenches free, recoiling from her, “Get out, you’re safe now. I did your dirty work, princess, and you don’t have to worry. You don’t need me now.” Sansa falls to the floor on her knees as the tears stream down her face, feeling the pain of his dismissal. Seeing her not moving, he roars at her with all of his wrath, “Get out now!”

Feeble, she stands grabbing her tote and Lady’s leash before exiting to get in her car. Turning the car over, she’s a shaking and crying mess with her hair all in her face. She backs out, barely missing another car before navigating home between sniffles and wiping her eyes free of the blurring tears.

Home, she just goes to her room and collapses on the bed. Lady hops up next to her whimpering and nuzzling her, so Sansa buries her face in her fur, sobbing. She can’t even process it all yet, and it feels like an hour or so before she calms.

Grabbing her journal and seeing the little bird on the cover tears her heart anew, knowing that everything was fine just a few hours ago. She scribbles out _how she feels so worthless, like no one likes her and she’ll never have any friends or fall in love. They all see her as a burden, even her family. She’s let them down, and it would’ve been better if she was never born so she wouldn’t have to live all this, polluting the world with her existence._

And then she thinks of Sandor and tears pool again in her eyes and her stomach clenches as her chest shudders from the hurt. _He really hates her. Her best friend just yelled at her to get out of his life._ She even tried to bring up how she might have feelings for him, and he didn’t even care, making out that she’s manipulating him or something. What did she do to make him so angry? He was relentless. She tried to explain, but he didn’t want to listen to anything she had to say, like her words were poison to him. Has he been hating me all week? He didn’t even want to see her today. _Gods, why is she such a stupid girl who always messes everything up?_

* Everything hurts inside her so much, and her head is spinning with the clusterfuck of thoughts telling her how worthless she is. Taking the pen, she clenches it in her hand and makes deep lines into her left inner forearm, then trying to stab herself with it to break the skin. She feels everything start to clear in her head with the pain as she drives the pen deeper. She smiles and feels a bit of relief as a little blood dribbles out. _Beautiful._ She pulls the pen away and kisses the mark, licking at the pearl of blood with her tongue and delighting in the sting of the new wound to match how she feels inside. But this wound is hers.

She feels pulled away from the deep emotional pain to a place where she’s numb to it, and she doesn’t want it to stop. She bites down hard on her arm, not breaking the skin, but the pain is exquisite, making her feel like she’s stepped outside of Sansa, and she exists in this moment as no one and this feels more real than anything else. *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-harm does not equal attempted suicide. She's not trying to kill herself, and she's not planning out her death here. She's trying to cope with all the pain she feels inside even if this is a self-destructive outlet.
> 
> I know Sandor's really mean here, but this happens and you'll see his POV next chapter for the week after. I know it sucks and I hated writing them 'break-up', but it's not the end.   
> :)


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV

Pissed in more ways than one, at least not the one involving piss, Sandor sits out on his back patio and throws up another empty bottle from the ones he’s accumulated over the week, and tries to shoot it before it lands. He should’ve got beer cans, so he could try for multiples, see how long he could keep it in the air.

About that time, he hears his back door open, and two cops come out, “Sir, we are responding to reports of shots fired.” They approach him cautious, guns in position.

“Yeah, that was me,” he throws his gun to the ground, visible to all. “Now, get off my property unless you have a warrant. You know who I am, right?”

“Yes, we are aware. We are issuing a warning and fine for the violation. Don’t let it happen again, and we’re confiscating your firearm for now. You may apply to get it returned after you pay your fine, Clegane. Do not leave your home this evening.”

Sandor nods, not caring as the slip of paper falls in his lap. No use picking a fight with the law.

“Next time we’ll take you in,” the officer warns before he takes the gun, unloads it, and leaves.

Sitting there, his entertainment gone, he rubs his face and grabs his half-empty whiskey bottle, cursing the day he ever moved to this gods-forsaken place. _Home_ , the officer had said, this is just another empty place he exists in. Wouldn’t matter if it burned down along with everything else in his life, he’d move on if he was still breathing.

Sandor had felt the rage right under his skin all week, this reminder of who he really is lurking there after his altercation with Sansa. Even the week before that he felt that edge as he cleaned his arsenal, did stuff around the house, and anything really to keep away from that damn girl taking over his life. Then, she had the nerve to show up here and lecture him on fucking honesty. That was bullshit, and thinking about how oblivious she acted to her own manipulations made him fume with frustration. She went on about how she doesn’t know if she has feelings for him or not – can’t she says she’s not interested and let them both move on instead of clinging to him like he’s supposed to be her dog.

And this is all Elder Brother’s fault. He should’ve never quit drinking, never quit killing, and never tried to live a fucking normal life. He doesn’t know what he is going to do now, but he does know he's going to be his fucking self with his ugly fucking mug and fuck everyone else. Between the old brother and Sansa, they’ve tried to do a number on him, tried to make out to care or some shit, but no. They think they’re smarter than him, like they know what’s best for his life. _FUCK THAT!_

Last week, he had needed some space after her dad chewed him out and her clear rejection from his attempted kiss, but then she pulled that stunt last Saturday. Wanting to know about his family and his scars and then why he didn’t have skin grafts – _fuck her!_ He’d still be hideous even if they had done that, if he hadn’t only received basic care and been kept in his room.

The tiny sliver of rationality still conscious whispers, _she didn’t know those things were like pulling the pin on a grenade,_ but still, why does she have to fucking know everything when she’s not even going to stay in his life? He’s just an experience for her amid a myriad of other highs of lows of being young that she’ll remember when she’s married to her new prince one day.

After she’d left, he had been so wild with fury that he went out and ran in the cool rain to at least let out the energy before he did something stupider. He didn’t have any answers for why he’d been reforming himself, trusting the Elder Brother that he’d fix his life. He thought maybe there was something about civilian life he could help him with, but it was the same shit without the missions to break it up. So he’d picked up a six pack of beer on the way home that he nursed a couple days, trying to not lose control and throwing himself into a new game.

The virtual violence helped, but he wanted more and he didn’t know how he’d live without it. That was one good thing about the little bird, trouble followed her, but he stuck his neck out too far for her this last time. It had to be done, but resentment toward her crept in whether because she didn’t appreciate it or because she didn’t condone it. He didn’t care enough to puzzle it out and pushed it out of his mind.

That had led to more six packs and more gaming until Saturday rolled around, and something she said wouldn’t stop coming to the forefront of his thoughts, “We always hang out on Saturdays.” He could see her blinking at him with those pitiful blue eyes confused but full of hope. That hope and blind trust she had in him from the start, and he had slaughtered that, ran her off, and inflicted whatever pain he could with his words to make her suffer everything she had made him. All his frustration and anger toward her he unleashed, and he’ll probably never see her again now. It was too much, and he hated that he was brooding on it all again, so he reached for the whiskey he had graduated to today.

Sandor staggers back in his house, hunting for another handgun and his keys. With those in hand, he climbs into his pickup, letting Stranger in with him, and takes another swig as he starts his truck up, putting the handgun in the glove box. Not thinking of much of anything he drives around, seeing the park pass by. He doesn’t admit to himself where he’s going, but before long he’s passing by her place and notices the lights are out. _Maybe it’s just late, and she’s asleep._ Still, he pulls over on the curb and stumbles out, leaving his door open as he climbs up to her flat. He knocks with a loud bang, yelling out, “Little bird,” so she knows it’s him and not a stranger, but that might be just as frightening for her.

He sinks down to the floor in front of her door, resting against the wall, and Stranger lies down next to him, whimpering. He's been lousy company since not seeing Sansa means not seeing Lady. No doubt he can smell her here.  _Maybe she’s out,_ he wonders, _over with a friend or something_ , he tries to reason but a part of him fears she’s gone, that something happened to her and he was a fucking drunk. She called him once this week, not leaving a message. _What if she had needed him? But now she's gone?_   He punches the floorboards once hard, and then tries to find his phone but can’t find it on his person. _Must be at the house._  Devolving into realizing what a fuck-up he is, and a fool at that, sitting here desperate at her door, Sandor gets himself up and picks his way down the stairs.

Getting into his truck and Stranger following him, he starts the engine back up. Sandor drives out to the bay, out to where they had been, and sits near the shore with his dog sniffing around to take a shit before lying next to him. He finishes the bottle while tossing rocks into the water. His guts churn at the harshness of the liquor, and he remembers why not drinking had its perks as he moves to throw up into the bay.

Sitting back next to Stranger, he speaks up, “Just you and me, old bastard,” before he passes out next to his dog, feeling more numb than he had in a long time but it was a comfort, like putting on an old pair of boots that still fit.

Sandor wakes up to someone shaking him, and it’s a moment before he recognizes Elder Brother’s voice calling out to him. He opens his eyes to see the old man and someone else, probably Meribald, as he uses his hand to shield the sun. _Fuck, it's bright and early._ “What the hells?” he rasps, his throat ragged from the stomach acid in his vomit last night.

“One of our friends on the force called to inform me you were passed out on the shore here this morning,” the Elder Brother informs him.

“Shit,” Sandor grits out, looking around for what he has with him.

“Yes,” the old man smiles down at him, “I want you to come to the isle,” the man gives him a pat on the back.

Too fucking tired and sick to care, he curses, “Fine, hells,” trying to get up and fishing for his keys. Stranger just follows along but nudges his leg, probably wanting his breakfast.

Nearing his truck, he spots the damage, “Dammit, how the fuck did this happen?” He checks out the busted headlight, parts dangling, and scrapped paint along the side.

Elder Brother responds, “No doubt it was your driving, hopefully you just hit a lamp post and not a dog.”

“Didn’t hit a dog,” he glares at the old man, his anger coming back, and he punches the fucked up headlight, hating himself for his carelessness. He couldn’t live with himself if he’d killed a dog.

“You can’t solve everything with your fist, Sandor.” Elder Brother means well, but Sandor snarks back, “Better than trying to use my fucking mouth.”

Not missing a beat this morning, the brother replies, “Well, considering you can’t finish a sentence without cursing, makes sense.” Sandor just scowls at him, feeling miserable with the onslaught of his hangover. He has to walk back out to the bay, still shielding his eyes as he throws up again though there’s nothing in his stomach and it’s more like his abdomen clenching painfully, like it’s trying to reject him, too.

Back with the brothers, Elder Brother explains, “Meribald is calling to get your truck towed and fixed. Meanwhile, you’ll stay at the isle.”

“What about Tess? She’s at my house,” he questions, hoping to get out of this though a part of him wants to give in.

“Can Sansa keep her?” the old man asks unaware.

Sandor shakes his head, “We’re not really talking right now.”

“Oh,” the brother replies as if this explains everything, which pisses him off, but Sandor just goes along with them, in too sorry a state to argue.

 

* * *

 

Spending the week at the isle has been beneficial in all likelihood, but Sandor feels like even more of a failure. He can’t even drink properly anymore for one. He had to finally relent to getting a shot for the nausea because he couldn’t eat or drink anything without throwing it up all Sunday. Then, he had Elder Brother berate him over how he’s putting his liver in jeopardy between the medication he’s on and the alcohol abuse.

Sandor had just chuckled, “Good thing I quit taking those pills then,” but that was evidently worse.

“Sandor, understand you can’t just quit taking your psych meds, they’re strong medication that works with your brain, you have to wean yourself off them. It can be very damaging. What made you relapse like this?” the Elder Brother asked, almost unbelieving at how reckless Sandor had been.

“I’m tired of you and Sansa trying to make me into something I’m fucking not,” he had barked at him, glaring.

To which Elder Brother had huffed a sigh, no doubt exasperated with him, “Sandor, look at yourself, passed out by the bay, sick as a dog. If you continue as the Hound, you’ll dig yourself an early grave and probably bring some other souls with you. The police mentioned you were shooting in your backyard. You’re endangering lives between that and driving around drunk, and you had another gun in your truck. And I know you think you don’t care,” the old man must’ve heard him snort at the lecture, “but you had Stranger riding around with you last night and if you had got in an accident, he’s not wearing a seat belt and could have been killed. Is that what you want for him?” _Gods, he knows just how to skewer him in the ass._

About halfway through the week, the Elder Brother came to him to ask him if he wanted to go with Meribald to check out a dog they’re going to have to put down in Saltpans at the rescue for being too aggressive. He had agreed, though the dog has to be young for him to take him on and train him. Getting there, he read over the dog’s chart, seeing that it was a male, name Crow, around a year old, rescued from a dog-fighting ring.

They had him in a large dog crate, and he hated that he didn’t at least have a pen he could move around in.

“He was moved in here with plans to euthanize him,” the man there pointed out, and as Sandor neared, the dog perked his ears up and then launched into a vicious bark at them, trying to claw through the crate bars. At least he’s got some fight in him.

Sandor crouched down and tried to extend his hand as a greeting to the dog, but Crow only snapped at it. “There, boy, nothing to be scared at, I’m going to get you out of there.” All he got was a mean snarl in response, and he felt a bit of kinship with the black shepherd as he went to muzzle him.

Back at the isle, he worked Crow hard, running him through agility tests, giving him strict guidelines for when he could eat and making sure he understood his place. He socialized him with Stranger some to help him. 

By that Friday, Elder Brother comes up to him and claps him on the back, “Good work with Crow, right?” he says with a little twinkle in his eye. He hates that look, like the old man has won, but he’s right about this.

“Yeah, it’s Crow, still need to keep your distance, but it’s incredible what a few days of full work and discipline will do for a dog. I still wouldn’t put him in a house with babes, but he’s good enough for what I’m doing with him.”

Elder Brother clears his throat, “I know it’s not a good practice, but I called Melisandre to see how Sansa is and to get her contact information since you seem to have misplaced your phone.” Sandor scowls, sending a hard stare the old man’s way, wary of what he means.

“I have her number for you to call to see if she’ll pick you up to get your truck.”

“I’d sooner call a taxi,” he bites, interrupting him.

Ignoring Sandor, the brother keeps talking, “I know you don’t want to talk about her, but you should think about apologizing. She doesn’t deserve to just be thrown out of your life without warning.”

“How do you know if I did anything wrong?” Sandor crosses his arms.

“Usually both people have something to apologize for in these situations,” he calmly replies, and he hates it when he’s right. He probably has more to apologize for than her though, he admits to himself.

“How is she?” he asks, shuffling his feet a little as Crow catches his breath from finishing his latest task, tongue hanging out. He had not talked about their fight, but he had admitted to Elder Brother he was worried something might have happened to her, so that must have prompted him to call Melisandre.

The old man smiles up at him, “She’s not doing that great, but she’s fine. Losing a friend has been hard on her at this difficult time.”

_He can take a fucking hint_ , he wants to bark, but just takes the slip of paper and walks back with Crow to the kennels on site before returning to his room. At least he got his training in while he was here for Reserves, but he might come out next week to keep working with Crow. Still, it would be good to have his truck back. They had only got some basic things at the house when they picked up Tess and didn’t find his phone. He curses himself for being nervous as he picks up the receiver and dials her number. It seems like forever till he hears her soft voice on the other end, “You've reached the phone of Sansa Stark. Sorry I can't answer the phone right now, please leave a message,” which makes him feel like more of an asshole. She sounds so sweet, and he can picture her, curling a strand of that copper-red hair in one finger, looking over at him on that fucking picnic blanket. She's been nicer to him than any other person has ever been and what does he do... He just hangs up, cursing, deciding he’ll try again tomorrow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it - comments are the best! I'm still recovering from latest GOT episode (5.03), even though I think it's very interesting, the Sansa-lover in me is scared and worried. So feel free to just comment about that because I could use some venting/conjecturing. :)


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: Week after fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for more self-harm in this chapter. Asterisks will denote this part.
> 
> Note this is the same Saturday as in last chapter when Sandor is at her door without his phone and what not.

It was supposed to be a girl’s night at Margaery’s, kind of like the one at her place a few weeks ago, and Sansa had felt comfortable drinking herself silly with rosé. But Randa was texting some guy she knew in Saltpans who wanted her to come to his friend’s party. Then Mya was calling her boyfriend to pick them up and go there. She tried to protest because it was already nearly midnight, and she didn’t want to just go to some guy’s house when she was already pretty drunk. It would be super late when they got there by the time Mychel picked them up and then drove to Saltpans. She went to Margaery’s side to tell her she was just going to stay here because she was tired, but Marg would not hear it as she was pretty gone herself and thought a party in Saltpans sounded like a fabulous adventure.

That’s how she found herself alone out on the stoop, happy to at least be smoking pot while she looks through her phone for anything to distract her. She lost Margaery to some acquaintance - she's seems to be taken with people outside her normal circle. Then Randa and Mya had paired off with their respective boys. She didn’t want to drink anymore, worried she’d black out, and didn’t want to deal with any boys now that she was in a strange place this Saturday night. The weed helped her calm her nerves, and she strangely felt better out on the lonely street than the jam-packed house.

Looking down at her phone, Sansa remembers Sandor hasn’t called her back and wishes she could call him. She really would like to get out of here, and it’s been a sucky week since their fight. She starts to feel that suffocating hurt again as her mind turns to the friend-companion she lost, how mean he was but also how much she still wants him back. She misses Tess, even Stranger, and him of course. It’s like he’s the rock of her existence in Maidenpool, and without him she has no place to stand, like she could blow away, leave and no one would know.

Wiping her eyes, she decides to call him, even though it’s nearly two in the morning, and see if he’ll do her this last favor, tell him how scared and alone she is. Pressing call, she waits for him to pick up as the call ends with a generic voicemail greeting. She doesn’t want to leave a message so lets it die. _How did she end up here? Sansa doesn’t want to be here._

Still looking at her boring phone, she’s startled to her a voice call out to her, “What’s a beautiful girl like you doing out here all alone on this stoop when there’s clearly a party in that house?”

Feeling bold, she counters, “Fuck off!” to the young man on the sidewalk, looking uneasy on his feet. He laughs deeply and sits next to her, though a respectable distance.

“Smoke?” he lights up a cigarette, and she gives a confused, “no,” as he tries to exhale away from her.

“Seriously though, you shouldn’t be sitting out here on your own. Not exactly a nice neighborhood,” he tells her, taking puffs off his cigarette.

“Whatever, I don’t even know you, obvs,” she tries to play cool because she’s tired of people telling her what she should do. _Like this rando really cares._ _She could just disappear, who cares._ She traces the marks on her arm, feeling the rough scabs. She hates how fast it seems to fade. The bruise from her bite is almost non-existent.

“You don’t have a knife do you?” she asks, blank, though calm like she can slip into that feeling she had when she pushed the pen further into her arm.

“No, chill, girl, what you think I’m going to do? Just a drunk on his way home. Name’s Jon but people call me Rivers,” he holds his hand out to her.

Not shaking his hand, she replies coldly, “I don’t care.”

“Ice queen, alright, I get it,” he chuckles, jokingly dropping his hand as if it died and bombs down onto the stair, making an explosion sound. She feels herself fighting a giggle.

Still she doesn’t know this guy – off the street, not even at the party – and Sandor said being rude would get her out of these situations. Her chest seizes up remembering him at Margaery’s party, how he _saved_ her and now how he _hated_ her. She pulls her lighter out and flicks it on, watching the flame dance.

“Thought you didn’t smoke?” the silly boy asks her.

Without emotion, she states, “Not cigarettes.” Then, she steadily moves to where her left arm is over the flame, testing the heat of it. The boy laughs, thinking it’s just a dare of hers and pulls out his lighter to challenge her.

“Watch this,” and he swipes his hand through as if that’s really some achievement, more like a lame skateboard trick.

* “Wow,” she snarks and gives him a dead stare as she moves her arm further into the flame. The pain is unbearable, but it’s all she feels in that moment. Soon the numbing peace fills her, but too soon Rivers snatches the lighter out of her hand. *

“What the hells?! Are you fucking crazy?!” He looks at her like she just turned green head to toe.

“I win, now leave me alone,” she cries.

He mutters, “You need help,” still looking at her strangely, dropping her lighter. She’s surprised he asks, “What’s your deal?”

Feeling herself start to break and not caring what this stranger thinks of her, she replies, “I lost a friend last week.”

“Oh, did she die? I’m sorry,” Rivers answers her.

“No, he just got really angry at me, and I think it’s over,” she whimpers.

“I understand,” he pats her shoulder, making her flinch. “Sometimes the worst is when something ends before it even gets started.” She looks at him, trying to puzzle out his words, but it actually seems sincere. Sansa looks at the angry red skin on her inner forearm, still screaming in pain as it starts to blister. Sandor would be so mad at her for this, she thinks, as she plays with it.

“Don’t, we should get you some ice or something,” he speaks up, but before they can move, the door is opening and she hears Margaery’s voice. “There you are, Sansa! I’ve been looking for you forever!” Then, noticing her male companion, “Oh my gods, Rivers! Get over her this second and give me a hug, it’s been too long!” _How does she know everyone!_

“Just thought I’d drop by and see Ruben,” he gives a friendly smile to Margaery before wrapping her in a bear hug, picking her up slightly as Margaery giggles.

“I see you’ve met, Sansa,” she smiles like a cat.

“Sorry, I retreated out here because I’m not really feeling the party tonight,” Sansa tries to excuse herself.

“What can we do for fun?” Margaery questions, gripping Sansa’s side next to her, to lead her back inside. “I want to make you feel better.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she yawns. Margaery is a comforting presence when she bestows her attentions on you, so Sansa soaks it all in.

“Come on, let’s do a shot and dance together, just you, me and Rivers, right?!” She winks at him. To which, Rivers just laughs, shaking his head, “I’ll try to say no, but I did just get here and could use a drink.”

“I thought you said you were drunk,” Sansa points out.

“Just buzzed, drink septa,” Rivers chuckles at his own joke of her being legalistic.

“We can make big fools of ourselves and not even care because who cares about this shitty little place in Saltpans!”

“Hey, I live here now!” Rivers laughs, not taking it personally.

“But Margaery, it’s probably close to 3 a.m. now, can’t we go back to your house?” she whines as Margaery pulls her along.

Back inside, she pretends to put her cares aside as she does a shot with them and dances around the kitchen, Margaery doing fun swing moves and twirling her around. Rivers jokes around, pretending to sweep the floor as a dance move and then pretending to be a crocodile chasing after them before deciding to start a flour war. This gets almost the whole house involved, and the white powder is everywhere. “I wish this was coke,” she hears someone joke.

Margaery pulls her up on the counter with her to dance, but it’s slippery so she falls, toppling down to the kitchen floor. “Oh, shit,” she hears some guy say before everything goes dark.

 

* * *

 

Sansa wakes up in a panic, scared of where she is, especially feeling the tangle of legs on her. Looking over to see Margaery and noticing she’s in her clothes from last night relief floods her that at least her friends appear to have looked after her. Her head is spinning from her sitting up too quick and starts throbbing something awful. She lifts her hand to feel swelling near her temple. Fixing her bra that had got all messed up while sleeping and trying to fix her clothes and hair though she’s still got flour everywhere, she tries to figure out where they are.

“Please tell me we are not still in Saltpans,” she whines, feeling defeated after being dragged everywhere by her friends last night _. Maybe she’s just not fun anymore._

Mya opens the door as Marg sleeps on, “Good morning, Sansa,” she whispers.

“Where are we?” she sounds like a child, rubbing her eyes.

"This is my place,” she looks amused. “Good to see you awake. How are you feeling? You took quite a tumble from what I heard. Marg was a mess, but then she passed out, too,” Mya laughs a little.

“Awake, kinda, but I feel horrible!” she smiles, glad to see Mya, her most rational friend.

“Come on, I made coffee and there’s toast, and I can make eggs.”

“Lovely,” she smiles, then sees the bandage on her arm.

Noticing her looking at it, Mya explains, “Yeah, somehow you burned your arm.” Sansa gulps remembering that, and that strange guy she met on the street that ended up knowing Margaery.

Following Mya into the kitchen, Mya lets her know that her boyfriend is on his computer in her bedroom, and Randa stayed over with that guy in Saltpans.

“Speaking of which, some guy, Rivers, I think, wanted me to give you this, it’s his number, obvs,” she hands over a scrap of paper, “said he wanted you to call if you needed anything.”

“Oh, thanks, he was nice, Margaery knows him.”

“Already moving on, I see,” Mya smugly jests, and Sansa gives her a little glare, hitting her with a dishtowel playfully.

“So, is this more than a hookup for Randa?” Sansa asks, as she knows it’s useless to try and discuss her romantic hiatus with her friends. Sandor was right so long ago when he said she can’t say she’s swearing off boys and not expect people to joke with her about it.

“Probably not, did you see him? I hate to judge, but what a loser! I don’t know why she messes around like she does. She can’t be having that great of sex.”

“What do you mean? She loves to throw in my face all her latest conquests,” Sansa rolls her eyes.

“Exactly my point! Don’t tell her I’m talking about her, but she’s kind of focused on being the slut who has lots of hot sex when she just likes all the attention. So, I think she likes throwing that in your face because you’re so pretty and inexperienced, and she’ll get the reaction she wants. She probably has daddy issues or some shit, but like who doesn’t? I’m much happier with one man who cares about me and my own pleasure and being together, and not just getting some. I mean I want a fucking orgasm, and I don’t know how many she’s really getting from her one-night stands, ya know? Sorry to rant, I wish she would listen to me!”

Sansa’s a bit taken aback by Mya’s rant, but this is why she loves her. “Huh,” Sansa thinks, “that makes sense. What about Margaery?”

“Who the hells knows what Lady Margaery Tyrell really wants? But she is lovely and sincere in her own way. She really likes you and having another lady around, ya know,” Mya grins at her.

“You guys are so great! Randa’s going to have to grow on me, but I want to call you and Marg sisters,” she smiles back at Mya, sipping her coffee, wishing she didn’t feel so bad.

“Oh, there’s the sleeping beauty!” Mya calls out as Margaery squints, entering the kitchen.

“Good morning, sisters,” Margaery smirks at them before a yawn betrays her state, though she makes up for it with a curtsy causing them to all laugh.

“Thanks for making sure I was okay, Margaery,” Sansa gives her a little embrace as she joins them around the kitchen counter.

Mya addresses Margaery, “Toast and coffee and eggs?”

“Thanks, doll, but no butter on the toast and just the whites please.”

“It’s good to have healthy fats,” Sansa points out to her friend.

“True but not when I feel huge from drinking so much. They only wanted to offer me beer at first, can you believe that? Luckily, my friend, Ruben, was there and set them straight.” She smiles then with her characteristic mix of playfulness and sophistication.

“Thank you for taking care of us, Mya!” Margaery cheers, laughing, as she sets a big cup of coffee in front of Marg.

“No problem, at least you didn’t puke!” and they all laughed at that.

“I hope I didn’t either, and I woke up dreading that we were still in Saltpans this morning,” Sansa huffs a laugh.

“What are you going to do today?” Margaery asks her.

“Um, homework probs,” she shrugs, “and a shower definitely.”

“For real, I’m covered in flour, and getting to the end of the semester sucks, soon we’ll have final projects and shit exams,” Margaery relates. “You still meeting up with Petyr every week?”

 _It’s strange hearing her call him by his first name._ “Not lately, he’s had some business trips though he’ll try to make it up to me with lunch during the week. He had mentioned taking me to some out of town functions after the gala a few weeks ago.”

“Oh yeah, I went with him to that last year, lots of older people though good food.”

“Really?” Sansa can’t hold back her shock that she didn’t know.

“It’s not like I slept with your uncle, dear. Why didn’t you go with him out of town? He is family though it still seems a little odd.” Margaery is nonchalant about it all.

“Yeah, maybe, just didn’t want to have to leave often and not get my work done.” She hadn’t wanted to be gone a whole weekend either.

“You’re such a good student,” Mya pokes fun at her, “If I had a rich uncle, I would let him take me places though Mychel would get jealous,” she laughs.

“Jealous?” Sansa questions.

“Just that I’d be gone, ya know,” Mya shrugs, not caring, “So have you made up with Sandor yet?”

She sighs, “I told you two we had a big argument over really just not understanding each other. I’ve tried to call him, but he hasn’t answered, so I don’t know.”

“Well, you have us,” Margaery grabs her hand, giving a reassuring smile. “Let’s get back so we can get all this flour off us and have a study party!”

“Okay,” Sansa grins, Margaery’s enthusiasm is infectious. “Add detox veggie juice to that, so I can feel like myself again. Thanks again, Mya! Enjoy your day with Mychel.” Sansa hugs her friend, “We should hang out more.” Then, she left with Margaery.

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Part Sansa POV: Pick-up Sandor  
> Second Part Sandor POV: Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy having our pairing back in a chapter together!
> 
> Warning for more self-harm (asterisks will denote section).

**Sansa**

Sansa spent a lot of time with Margaery over the next week, going on a run together, getting high and working on artwork. She can’t believe it’s been almost two weeks since she’s seen or spoke to Sandor, but she’s surprised at how the crushing pain of his loss has already started to fade. She doesn’t even have a picture of him, and she’s tempted to google him now that it doesn’t matter if she breaks her promise.

Though she’s stopped going to the park after the attack, she wonders if she’ll run into him at the bakery one day and if he’ll acknowledge her. Sometimes when she goes to bed at night, she remembers how she fell asleep in the crook of his arm on the God’s Eye beach as he ran his fingers through her hair and massaged her shoulders. That thought always makes her grab her other pillow and hold it close to her chest.

Melisandre didn’t dwell on the demise of her friendship but probed Sansa on her ex and that relationship and what she can do to feel safe now. Knowing what Sandor had done to Joffrey even though it was awful had made her feel safer, knowing that Joffrey had been humiliated and threatened beyond her wildest imagination. Still, she tried to dodge some of her questions because she felt so stupid about it all. Especially after she had taken Joff back after he had pleaded desperately and then to have that turn into a nightmare for two weeks until she had to extricate herself again. How could someone so doting at times turn cruel and vicious the next day or in less time?

She also felt so bad about all the problems she created, even with Joffrey’s father who now wanted an explanation from her. She just wants it all to go away. Sansa told Melisandre this and she had said issues unfortunately don’t work that way and often get worse if we aren’t honest with ourselves and talk about them with a trusted individual. _Gods, she sounds like Sandor almost._

She’s spending another Saturday morning, camped out in bed with Lady and adding to her journal with a cup of tea. Rivers sends her a text with a weed meme that makes her laugh followed by a vine of a bunny stealing a cracker from a toddler. She’d texted him to let him know she was okay after the party, and he’s been sending her funny things every now and then saying she’s too young to be sad.

Sansa isn’t really getting the whole meditation thing Melisandre showed her, but the journaling has been good. Reading over the last three weeks is actually helpful and makes her more aware of how she’s living and thinking. Looking at the day of her fight with Sandor makes her sad, but there’s some distance there now. It’s kind of enlightening to see all the thoughts that were running through her head and know that’s not her.

Examining her healing wounds, there’s a small scab from where her pen had stabbed deepest and the other marks are not very clear, but her burn is still blistered at least. It may scar. She’s about to puncture it to release the fluid, but her phone rings. She answers just seeing a random number showing and is shocked to hear Sandor’s voice on the other end.

“Sandor?” she questions, surprised. Feeling her heartbeat start to accelerate, not sure what to expect.

“Yeah, it’s me, lost my phone. Elder Brother got your number from Melisandre, I think.” He sounds nonchalant, but at least she knows why he may have not answered some of her calls.

“You could’ve just come by my apartment if you wanted to talk to me,” she responds, staying guarded.

She hears a slight chuckle in that bitter way of his on the other end, as he seems to pause. “I know I need to apologize to you for the other day.”

Something about the way he says that gets under her skin, so she snips back, “Then say you’re sorry. It’s not hard, watch. I’m sorry that I asked you questions that were too personal and thought we were closer than we are.” She hears him snort in frustration and considers hanging up on him, but this is the first time she’s heard from him in two weeks so she wants to hear him out.

“Sansa, I’m sorry I got angry and told you to get out and everything. I was pissed thinking you were trying to change me and shit, okay?” he seems resigned to say.

“So?” she lets hang out there. A week ago she would have been pleading with him to come see her, but she had gotten some perspective on things and knew she had other friends now, too. Margaery had been really upset about Sandor yelling at her to get out.

“If you don’t give a shit, I can let you go on your merry way, but I do have a favor to ask you.” _He’s really asking me for a favor right now!_ “I had to get some work done on the truck, and I’m out at the Quiet Isle and need a lift back into town. I’ll come back for the dogs later, but Elder Brother asked me to see if you’d pick me up to get the truck for some reason.”

Taking a deep breath, she answers, “Fine,” having a hard time believing the man on the other end of the phone is the one she thinks about before she falls asleep and even shows up in her dreams sometimes. 

After Sandor explained to her how to get there and where to go at the isle, she texts Rivers complaining at how she has to go drive out to the Quiet Isle for a friend. He wants her to come see him on the way, so he can see if she’s smiling or not in person. But she replies, “LOL, maybe next time, too busy :(.” She giggles when he answers, “Not a frown!” So she sends him a selfie with a little smile before heading out.

Sandor’s there waiting for her at the entrance, typical scowl in place as he walks up to her car and gets in, adjusting the seat back as far as it will go to fit better, though his knees are hitting the dash.

His coldness is wearing on her as they continue down the road in silence. Everything he said to her during their argument is ringing out in her head, especially how he blames her for everything, and she can feel the strength she had on the phone waver as she clenches and unclenches the steering wheel in thought. * Feeling herself losing control, she reaches over and rubs her wounds to try and draw on that physical pain to distract her. Not enough, she impulsively bursts the blister, letting the fluid run down her arm as she rubs the burn raw to where it’s bleeding. It hurts so much but keeps her from breaking down next to the man she thought cared for her. *

“What are you doing?” Sandor asks in his rough manner, reaching across the car at her arm.

She tries to bat him away, snipping, “Like you care,” but it comes out weak. She hides her left arm at the side of the car, but he sees the blood on her other hand.

“Sansa, what is this?” she can feel him trying to meet her eyes, but she hides behind the curtain of her hair, only looking at the road. He holds her hand up, making her grab the wheel with her other hand. She feels her chest constrict at this exposure, and it gets harder to breath normally as tears threaten. * Desperate, she tries to bite the inside of her lip until she draws blood and tries to pull lose of his hold. She wants to be angry and wrathful, but all she feels is hurt and hopelessness. *

“Stop the car, pull over,” he directs, but she silently protests by continuing to drive down the road back to Maidenpool. She can sense his frustration with her as his grip tightens on her forearm, and he threatens, “Do it now, or I will for you.” Knowing that’s not an idle threat, she does as he tells her without looking at him or saying anything and kills the engine.

Now stopped, Sansa closes her eyes, trying to remain calm and disappear if possible. Sandor seems gentler with her as he removes her seatbelt and pulls her closer so he can reach her other arm. She feels his calloused hand turn her arm over and him make a hiss sound at the sight. She can feel his finger touch her older wounds, too, noticing them, and she flinches at his inspection but tries to numb herself to him.

“What happened, little bird?” She feels his hand on her cheek, “If this was Joffrey, I’ll…” he trails off, then breathes out hard and settles back into his seat. “I’m such a fool,” he whispers to himself.

She huffs a sour laugh, answering, “No, it was me.” _And you_ , she adds in her head.

Though keeping her eyes shut, Sansa can still picture the odd look he gives her and feels his eyes on her face trying to figure her out. With his pause, she opens her eyes to turn the car over to restart, but he stops her and grabs her arms at the elbow, turning her to face him. She looks up into his eyes for a moment, but the concern there breaks her because she knows too well the opposite from him. She casts her eyes down, trying to take deeper breaths.

“Little bird,” she hears him mutter, worried, and squeezing her upper arms. It’s hard not to submit, but she wants to strike back. “How dare you,” she chokes out, “you did this, you hurt me, you are so mean. I know what you really think of me now.” She struggles against him fruitlessly while she says that, but he almost seems lifeless by the end of it and lets go of her anyways.

She watches him now as he looks down at his own hand on his knee where some new scabs crown his knuckles; _well I guess I’m not alone in my self-destruction._ He seems defeated as he says in a low voice, “I am sorry, Sansa, I know I said a lot of shitty things, and I shouldn’t have pushed you away. But I do care, and I don’t want you hurting yourself.” He extends his hand back out to her arm, looking her in the face.

“I don’t understand why you think I’m just using you, you were my best friend,” she mutters because that was one of the hardest things she was trying to tackle from what he said.

“Uhh,” he rubs the back of his neck, “It’s complicated, and a lot of things together made me think that. I don’t really know how to explain it.” _Or won’t_ , she thinks. “But will you promise not to hurt yourself again? Were you thinking about killing yourself?”

Thinking he’s blowing it out of proportion, she answers, “No, I wasn’t trying to do that or even thinking it really. I just wanted everything to stop hurting. You wouldn’t understand,” she looks up shaking her head.

He seems to look at her like she really is a fragile little bird with a broken wing, “I know it’s a burn, Sansa, and I know that it fucking hurts something awful. And you tell me this is because of me and that I hurt you,” he balls his hand up into a fist and bangs it on the dash, but she can tell it’s not really directed at her. “Just promise me you won’t do it again, and you’ll let it heal.”

“Okay, I promise, gods. If you do really care and you still want to be my friend, you have to promise, too, to not get angry and be mean like that again, and not to just kick me out but let me defend myself. I’m sorry I wasn’t more sensitive, too,” she says back to him though feeling unsure.

He looks back over at her at this with what almost looks like hope if it weren’t Sandor Clegane, “I can’t promise I won’t ever fuck up again, but I promise not to be like I was then and to try and hear you out rather than kick you out,” as he looks her over, making her a little shy all of a sudden.

“You really hurt me, ya know,” she looks at him sadly, feeling some of her walls come down and with it tears, of course. He shocks her by pulling her in for a hug as he brushes her hair back with one of his hands. It’s almost like it’s back to whatever their normal was.

“Will you tell me how you did this?” He motions to her arm, pulling back, “and let’s get back to yours or my house, so I can fix it up, if that’s okay?”

“Are you going to tell me about your hand and why you’re at the isle without your truck that’s broken when I know you’re supposed be there next week?” she levels back at him, not caring to honor their tenuous peace. It’s like she wants to test him.

“Well, let’s get back on the road, so I can fix your arm. It’s in bad shape,” he eyes her, “Then, I can get back for the dogs. Got a new one, Crow, he’s a rescue one-year-old. If you’re okay with it, we can get together after I get back, and I’ll tell you but it’s not a fun story.”

She gasps, “You got a new dog!” before answering, “Okay, Sandor,” with a small smile as he sits back in his seat and she turns the engine back on.

“Yeah, he’s not a cuddly puppy though, he’s in bad shape and may never be too friendly. Was going to be put down.”

“Oh, that’s awful. I’m glad you saved him,” she turns back on the road, feeling so drained from their talk. 

 

* * *

 

**Sandor**

Coming into Sansa’s apartment, Sandor hands her a package with all the lemon poppy seed muffins that Rose had left at the bakery. He had gotten Crow settled in the kennel at his house before heading over to her place with Stranger and Tess. Dropping by the bakery, Rose had been worried about him, having not seen him for weeks herself, and he had agreed to get together this weekend. He didn’t know what they needed to catch up on like she had mentioned, it’s not like they talk about much.

“Thanks,” she says somewhat sadly. She looks a little worse for wear, but at least the bandage he made for her is still in place. “I didn’t make anything, was really tired after everything and took a nap.” He fights his almost constant urge now that he’s around her again to pull her close and run his fingers through her hair. It’s worse than before now that he’d almost lost her and then seeing her like she was in the car, scraping at her burn wound with blood on her hand.

A strange sort of respect for her grew in him over her welcome of pain, but that’s nothing compared to how much he blames himself for her actions. All his building resentment towards her had faded when he saw how broken she was, and he remembered how much he wanted to fix her, to make it all better, and make her feel safe again. How he could doubt her sincerity he found hard to believe, but there’s a part of him that will always resist change, will want to slip into his old ways as destructive as they are.

As he pets Lady, he mentions casually, “Let’s get a bite out, if you’re okay with that?” He doesn’t know where he stands with her now, but friends can do that he assumes.

“Are you going to let me split the check?” she lobs over at him with a bit of mischief in her smile that warms him to see her more carefree.

“No,” he grins slightly, “but it’s nothing, okay?” He doesn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. He had promised not to throw her out but that doesn’t mean she won’t run away of her own free will.

Sansa had suggested going to a little café in the old town with fare from local farms and what not. He’s surprised at how enchanted she is at the whole thing when they get seated, gazing around at everything in the room with her hands clasped as she does when she’s particularly happy. She goes on remarking about how she likes their chairs and décor and always thought it was charming from the outside.

“Miss going on dates, little bird?” he smirks at her. He never knew she liked going out so much as they always ate in or grabbed sandwiches or something.

She eyes him in that poised way of hers, “No, it’s not like I got to choose anyhow.” That seems like a strange answer to him, but it’s not like he knows anything about dating, might as well ask her since she’s here.

“So, would you like to choose where you go on dates? Do women like that?”

“Are you asking me for advice?” Sansa looks at him with her brows furrowed in puzzlement.

“It’s not like I’m an expert,” he quips with a brash laugh, catching a few glances from the other patrons. _They can all go fuck off for all he cares._

She continues, more timid, “I guess, though surprises are nice sometimes. Some people might call this a date.” She looks up at him like that was a challenge, but he is only amused.

“Why? What do you call it?” he asks her, genuinely curious now, not caring what his smirk is doing to his scars, and leaning over the table on his elbows.

“Sandor,” she reproves him in a whisper while a blush creeps up her face, and he remembers how much he enjoys getting her flustered like this. Rearranging her silverware, she mumbles, “I don’t know,” and places her hands in her lap with her napkin like the lady she is.

“Don’t worry, little bird, no need to ruffle your feathers. I don’t understand all these labels people have anyways. What defines what and what the reason is for all of it.” He shrugs because it’s something he’s never understood, even the marriage part of it. _Why did people have to vow to stay together and bind themselves legally and then wear rings and shit?_

She looks up at him with her brows furrowed again, but their food arrives and distracts her as she’s about to speak. He digs into his roast chicken and potatoes, and it is the perfect comfort food.

“This is good,” he says to Sansa after his first few bites, getting the juices up with the warm bread, probably eating too fast.

“I know, we should come here more often,” she agrees, paring off a piece of her mushroom pie. She sees him look at it questioningly, so she insists, “Oh, you have to try this,” and deftly moves it onto his plate with fork and knife. “It’s so good, very rich, makes me not miss meat at all.” He humors her and has to agree that it’s pretty delicious. This place is the real deal, good, hearty food.

“That’s no salad, bird, not a seed in sight. Might put some meat on your bones,” he chuckles, as he cleans his plate off with the last of the bread. He almost wants seconds if this place weren’t so damn expensive. He ends up dripping some of the juices on his shirt as he eats the bread and just grabs the napkin he hadn’t used and rubs it dry.

Sansa has frozen mid-bite when he looks up at her and throws his napkin back on the table. “Really, Sandor, you can’t say that to a woman. And try to be um… more careful with your napkin,” she responds.

He snorts, “Just a joke, wouldn’t hurt you. In fact, you look skinnier than when I last saw you.” He had noticed how loose her clothes seemed to be but didn’t know how to bring it up, evidently he shouldn’t have. He’s concerned when she sets her fork down, wipes her mouth with her napkin and lays it on the table, and she’s not even eaten half the meal.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to ruin it for you,” he tells her, reaching over to touch her arm, but she just pulls back.

“You didn’t, I’m full,” she answers back with a little smile to try and convince him, but he can see right through that. He kicks himself for not being more careful with her after everything today.

“Do you mind?” he asks, motioning to her plate, and that makes her giggle as she slides it across to him. “So you going to explain your arm to me?” He asks as he starts finishing her plate. The place has cleared out, so it’s not like they’ll be overheard.

“Well, the older marks are from when I was writing in my journal after you kicked me out. It’s like my thoughts are all swirling, and if I hurt myself, it kind of clears my mind, so I stabbed myself with my pen. Then, they were fading, and I was out at a party last Saturday with the girls in Saltpans, but I didn’t want to be there and I tried to call you to pick me up but you didn’t answer of course. There was this punk guy who was annoying me out on the stoop, but he turned out to be cool, but at the time, I didn’t know that.” She looks over pointedly at him at this part, “I even told him to ‘fuck off’ and he laughed, Rivers,” she rolls her eyes, laughing at whoever this _Rivers_ guy is. “Anyways, all I had was my lighter and I was watching the flame and then held my arm over it, sinking into the flame until he snatched the lighter out of my hands.”

“Holy shit,” he responds, shaken by the idea of her burning herself like that and what she did with a pen, “I’m glad you told me, who is this Rivers?” He hates that had he been there for her, none of that would’ve happened.

“Just a friend I met last weekend, your turn,” she insists, rather defiant for her.

Sandor goes on to explain the lovely tale of his Saturday and how the Elder Brother had lectured him about how he was courting death and could hurt more than himself. He’d already hurt Sansa more than he could ever imagine, and he's vowed to himself not to let her down again like that. Still, he leaves out the shooting and that he had gone by her place.

After getting her back home, he makes sure she feels safe and lightly runs his hand over her hair before turning to leave, but she comes in to embrace him, wrapping her arms around his middle. He hears a slight sniffle before she says, “Thanks for telling me about everything and thanks for what you did to Joffrey. I know I didn’t say it, but I do really appreciate it. I haven’t been scared to leave the house as much now.” He just pulls her closer, running his hands over her soft red strands down to the small of her back, feeling her tiny waist under his hands as he lightly kisses the crown of her head before releasing her to leave. Walking down her stairs, he smirks to himself, wondering if she’ll find the little bird he had whittled during their trip since he’d left it at the bottom of the muffin bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been the hardest chapter to write - took awhile (remember how I stay 5 chapters ahead of when I post) and I bawled trying to write it. I find it hard to have Sandor apologize and feel in character, maybe my perfectionism came out a bit. 
> 
> You can chat me up about the series, it's got me super depressed for our lovely little bird.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: Margaery Hangout

“So yeah, my father sent me a rosebush which was sweet, but then I tripped and stubbed my toe on the huge planter taking up space on my balcony and ended up falling into the thorns.” Margaery shows her the little scratches on her arms, pouting for effect.

“I’m sorry, I wish my dad would send me gifts rather than give me lectures,” Sansa complains. They had come out to the little quay by the canal around old town since it was a lovely day to do India ink drawings as their last class assignment before the final. Margaery had been busy, so they didn’t meet up till late.

“At least my father is thoughtful even if he’s an idiot.” Sansa can’t help but shoot her a look of surprise. Margaery just laughs in that beautiful sing song way of hers, “What? That’s what my grandmother says.”

Then Marg leans over conspiratorially, “So are you hiding out in Maidenpool from having to make the perfect marriage, too? If I get another suggestion for a suitor, I will go on a rampage. Can you believe my father has even pushed me towards Prince Joffrey?”

Sansa replies, “Well, I’m not surprised, but you’d have to be brave,” and they both giggle. “Kind of hiding, I guess, since I haven’t really told my parents why I ended things with Joffrey.” Margaery nods in understanding.

Sansa includes Jonquil’s tower in her composition, elaborating on it with a maid on the parapet and a simple boat along the shore there by the gate. Seeing the pink-tinged sky of the sunset makes her ink drawing feel terribly dull, so maybe she’ll add some watercolor washes for some color later. It looks kind of foreboding in just the grays of the ink washes.

“Want to come back to my place? I have wine and salad stuff,” she encourages Margaery with a smile. “It’s getting chilly at night,” Sansa complains, wishing she had a sweater.

“Yeah, well, finals will be upon us soon, since the last day of class is next week,” Margaery replies enthusiastically. They pack up and start walking up the street.

Sansa laments, “I hate exams which I have in all my general classes. I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to do what I want to for my final project in our drawing class.”

“Oh, what do you want to do?” she inquires.

She discloses though a bit anxious how Marg will respond, “I’ve thought about asking Sandor to model for me because he has a lot of interesting scars, even on his body, but he’s so touchy about his appearance. I just don’t want to set him against me again.”

“Oh, you two are talking again?” Margaery sounds disappointed and even annoyed.

“Yeah, he apologized, but I’m still wary, ya know.”

Margaery touches her arm, “I just don’t want you to let someone who puts you down like Joffrey into your life again.”

Sansa snaps her eyes over to momentarily glare at her, surprised but trying to stay calm, “It’s okay really, he’s not like that, and I’m seeing a therapist now to support me.” Luckily, she remembers the craziest thing from yesterday, “Oh my gods, when I went to see her – my therapist, Melisandre, ya know – you wouldn’t believe it! My insane language and grammar teacher, Dr. Stannis Baratheon,” she impersonates that severe way he talks when saying his name, “was coming out of her office. He looked so uncomfortable when he saw me, though he’s generally grumpier than Sandor as a default.” She laughs now, remember the awkward sighting.

“That’s hilarious, I heard last spring, a student had made a meme of him as grumpy cat with some of his ticks as a professor listed, like ‘improper comma,’ and stuff. It was funny and it got posted around campus and online.”

“Wow, that’s pretty harsh, but still he is so anal about everything. I wanted to lash out after he only upgraded the paper I rewrote to a mid B, saying I didn’t deserve an A because I had to rewrite it. Then, why the fuck did I have to rewrite it?!” she emphasizes as Margaery laughs at her tirade. Sandor really is rubbing off on her she realizes at her curse word. She is going to have to be careful when she goes home for Sevenmas break in a few weeks.

After eating their salad and working on a bottle of wine, the girls watch the latest thriller that Margaery had been interested in seeing. The movie brings up twisted theories on psychology that she tries not to take it too seriously though it does sensationalize the lead actress’s tragedies at the hands of men. Margaery could’ve been a little more sensitive in what she picked, Sansa keeps to herself.

“Rivers seems to want to hang out with us and Ruben sometime. Maybe they could come up and we could all get together with Mya and Randa?” Sansa suggests as Rivers has been bugging her to make plans with him, so she’s trying to come up with a friend outing before he shows up on her doortstep.

“I don’t know, maybe next semester. There’s so much to do before we leave for break, and I’m like so behind,” Margaery shrugs, seeming tired.

“We need to get together though before we all leave for Sevenmas to have a little celebration, wouldn’t that be lovely?” Sansa persists though she doesn’t want to deal with having it here – maybe they could go out?

“Yeah, I just don’t have time to plan anything.” Marg rests her head on Sansa’s shoulder, “So we’re taking one design class together, but what else are you taking next semester?”

“I will look into putting something together, maybe out at a café or something. Anyways, I’m taking painting and printmaking, too. Then a business intro course and one of my uncle’s classes. Petyr’s going to be my mentor for my business minor,” she answers.

“Hmm, Petyr Baelish. You know he’s well connected with many politicians. Some say he may run himself some day.”

“How do you know everything about everyone, Margaery?” Sansa teases her though not sure how to take this information.

“I make it a point to stay plugged in to what’s going on in real Westeros, dear, not just our old, stagnant society. Plus my grandmother is always working to keep Highgarden prosperous and loves to point out that it’s just as much my responsibility as my brothers’ one day. The taxes are getting insane,” she explains adamantly.

“You’re right, of course,” she smiles at her friend who seems to have a very determined side to her. “I’m always inspired by you,” Sansa flatters her and then brings up, “I may actually do an internship with my uncle this summer. We talked about it at least.” Margaery looks at her with interest. She can see the wheels turning, but her friend does not admit her thoughts.

Feeling fewer inhibitions from their imbibing, Sansa confesses, “I wish I could take dance with you,” and feels a tear creep its way out of her eye as she tilts her head on Margaery’s.

Her friend pulls away to look at her face to face, gripping her shoulders, “What’s wrong? What do you mean?”

“Ya know, I was a ballet major in King’s Landing, and I had joined the company there. Well, I fell on stage during my Sevenmas performance and broke my ankle. I won’t be able to dance anymore, and it’s all my stupid fault. They kicked me out of ballet.” Not sure why but she falls toward Margaery who gathers her in a comforting embrace.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know about all that but hey, you can still take dance, just find some other type than ballet you can still do. My focus is modern dance actually.”

“Gods, Margaery, I wish I wasn’t such a mess,” she wipes a few tears, holding onto her friend, “I wish I could be more like you, I just feel like such a weakling sometimes after everything last year.”

“That’s why I want to be here for you,” she rubs Sansa’s back with that sweet smile of hers. “You looked so sad that first week in class, and you’re such a beautiful girl. It seemed wrong, so I decided to take you under my wing. Us ladies must stick together,” Margaery winks at her and before she knows it, her lips closed in on her own. Sansa’s surprised but thinks it might just be a friendly gesture, and it had been so long since she kissed anyone. Feeling giddy from the wine, she kisses her back as Margaery’s soft lips explore her own, and the sweet scent of flowers surrounds her.

Margaery’s hands start to edge into her hair and her tongue teases at her lips, so Sansa pulls back with a little laugh. As Margaery advances on her, Sansa looks into her doe eyes fixed on her own and questions, “Margaery, what are you doing? You just want to make out?”

“We could do more,” Margaery purrs suggestively, extending towards her ear, “I’ve wanted this for awhile.”

“Wanted what?” Sansa reacts, confused and backing away.

“You know, us, to get together. It would be perfect, two noble ladies shirk their suitors to be together.” Margaery seems to lose her confidence as she sees Sansa remain unconvinced.

“Um, I don’t think we’re on the same page,” Sansa mumbles, her eyes widened, _this is really unexpected._ She’s always been touchy-feely but so is she, and she thought nothing of it besides.

“But I thought you had sworn off boys! Don’t you feel this between us? And we stayed together last weekend after the party.” Margaery leans over to kiss her again.

Sansa stands up from the couch, and tries to explain to Marg, “I’m sorry but I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I just think of you as one of my best friends, and I’m so blessed to have you in my life.” She can see the hurt pride start to show in her friend and that makes her nervous because she doesn’t know how she’ll react and doesn’t want to lose her friend either. _She doesn’t want to date her though._

Margaery snips, “One of your best friends, huh, like Sandor?!” and gets up to go to the table where her stuff sits. Wrapping her scarf around her neck in a tense manner, she huffs, “Well, I hope you’re happy with him since he drools over you, the brute.”

“Margaery, it’s not that,” she tries to stop her; _she is not taking this well!_

Marg cuts her off, “Oh, I know you like him, seven hells if I know why! But I thought you were smart enough to move on. Evidently not. Well, enjoy choking on his fat dick and not getting your pussy licked. I doubt he knows anything about pleasing a woman, and he’ll probably try to get you to rub his cock off as soon as he finds the balls to kiss you.”

The vehemence and vulgarity of her friend assaults her, and Sansa struggles to yell back, “That is unfair, you don’t even know him!” _Gods, how base she is being, even jealous!_

“Oh, since you know him so well!” her friend actually sneers back at her. “Do you know he declined the knighthood after saving Ser Jaime Lannister, Joffrey’s uncle? How he’s probably banged half the sluts in Saltpans and evidently he’s moved on to here? Oh, what about his family? I’ve only heard of his brother, and it’s nothing good.”

“Stop it, Margaery!” Sansa cries out from her verbal attack. Margaery levels a cruel smirk at her like she would’ve never imagined from her usually so poised friend and then slams the door as she leaves. Sansa’s left there dealing with the immense gravity of her blows, and she rubs at her eyes before settling on making a cup of tea.

Why did Margaery have to say all those things? Sandor's just an easy target for her hurt pride. She had agreed not to google him and now for Marg to yell out all these secrets of his is unnerving. She had wanted him to open up to her, but it’s like she knows nothing about his life, his past before her, and after their fight, she can’t even talk to him about it without fear of sparking his ire again.

Pulling out her journal and lying down in her bedroom, she starts to go through the last week, but Lady jumps up next to her with her leash in her mouth.

“You want to go somewhere, girl?” Sansa feels tired, but a walk might clear her mind. “Alright, Lady Husky,” she tousles her fur and throws on some sneaks and a sweater over her dress.

Lady leads her on, undoubtedly to see her beau that she’s happy to be reunited with since Sandor and her are friends again. Lady is not nearly as mopey as she was for that bit, though Sansa wasn’t in much higher spirits to notice at the time. They’d only met up once for a play date earlier this week, and it couldn’t do any harm to stop by now. She’s not sure what he’s up to, but they’d tentatively planned to meet up tomorrow as usual on Saturday. She tries to push all the questions she has from Marg’s speech out of her mind. _Wouldn’t do to interrogate him again._

As Sansa crosses through the park over by the bakery, she glances over to the closed shop and has to do a double take. Her heart starts hammering, and she stops in her tracks at the sight of Sandor sitting at one of the café tables with Rose. She watches paralyzed as he lifts a beer to his lips with a slight chuckle at something Rose said. _Why is he drinking beer? Why is he there? Didn’t the bakery close an hour ago?_ Her mind scrambles to understand what she sees, but her heart already knows.

Though Rose’s back is to her, she can see her lean toward Sandor and slide her hand on his forearm. That contact, complete with her tight black tank top and fire-red hair, makes her feel like the whole of her chest cavity has been ripped open to be replaced by a crushing emptiness that makes it impossible to breath. Only the pull of Lady’s leash revives her, but it’s too late to escape notice. Sandor must have felt her gaze because he glances over and locks eyes with her as Lady nudges her leg. Sansa breaks eye contact to retreat into the park though she hears him call out for her from where he is. She continues, picking up the pace once she feels out of sight.

However, she still hears him calling out to her to stop until she hears him so close and just stops to turn around and face him. As he stops to catch his breath from running after her, Sansa tries to apologize, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your date with Rose. Lady just wanted to go on a walk and see Stranger. I didn’t mean to mess anything up,” she adds, whimpering slightly. _Why is everything crazy today?_

He looks over at her with his one brow furrowed and his hair pushed back from his scars. “Rose just asked me to catch up after she closed down for the day. It’s not like it’s a date. Why did you walk away? I don’t want you getting upset and hurting yourself again.” Sandor had been attentive this week, making sure she was okay and letting herself heal. Calling her about it every day almost. Sansa looks down at her bandage, thinking about how good it would feel to rip it off, and her right hand moves to pull at it. Sandor immediately grabs her hand, yelling, “No, you don’t do that.”

Whimpering, “Okay,” she pulls away to remark back, “That was a date, Sandor. You don’t have to hide it from me that you like Rose, I know,” she holds her free hand up to stop him from interrupting her. She knows he’s free to do whatever he wants, “I’m sorry I interrupted is all.” She tries not to look at him because she feels her guts twist knowing she’s losing him; _he’s going to want to be with Rose all the time now. She tries to take strength from the little bird he left for her with her muffins - she must mean something to him._

He huffs a laugh then and looks at her in a funny way, “Little bird, you might be right about it being a date, I guess, but I don’t really care about Rose. That was nothing,” he points back towards where he came from. He draws near her, softly touching her chin with one finger to direct her gaze back up at him, and she feels even more paralyzed than before as she looks into his concerned eyes, “I don’t want you running off upset. Do you still want to take Lady to see Stranger?” At the mention of his dog, Lady perks her ears up and makes a high-pitched whine. She can’t say no to her sweet girl.

“Okay,” she nods unsure. He wraps his arm around her shoulders to usher her back through the park, grabbing Lady’s leash from her and whistling to her dog to keep up. As they pass by the café again, all the tables are empty, and Sansa wonders about Rose and what would’ve happened if she hadn’t come by here.

Back at his house, Sansa feels a little on edge, remembering last time she was here was their big argument. Sandor warms the kettle up for her, and she tries to crush her desire to keep apologizing on inserting herself into his night because she knows that will annoy him fast. Part of her is not sorry for interrupting either.

“I just didn’t know you were seeing Rose, so it surprised me,” she mentions as way of explanation for her earlier behavior, now that she’s coming back to her senses.

“I’m not ‘seeing’ her,” he grits out, but his look softens when he glances back over at her. “You said you were hanging out with Margaery, and we were going to meet up tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” she shrugs a shoulder nonchalant, “we got in an argument.”

“You and Margaery?” he asks looking like he doesn’t believe her as he hands her a cup of tea.

For some reason she feels like telling him everything after seeing him with Rose, if for no other reason than to shock him. “She kissed me, and I first thought it was just like how girls do at parties sometimes for fun,” she looks up hearing him snort in amusement but also looking pretty astounded. “But she wanted me to be her girlfriend, I guess, and I told her it was all a misunderstanding,” and she notices his hand clench into a fist slightly at that. Sansa doesn’t know why, but all these emotions start warring in her and make her cry as she continues, “Then, she got really angry and started saying a lot of mean things about you.” She sobs that last part, and he puts his hand on her shoulder so she just scoots over next to him. He’s a bit stiff and tense at first but gradually comforts her, pulling her into the crook of his arm where she likes to be.

“That sucks, Sansa, I’m glad you came to me though,” he whispers to her, and she finds herself clutching him. She feels like she’s losing him anyway, especially with her being so needy all the time, and she won’t even have Margaery now when he discards her again.

She wipes her eyes, murmuring, “I’m sorry, please don’t make me leave again,” but he just turns her, bending down, so that she has to look in his eyes as she sniffles pathetically.

“Hey, I promised you I wasn’t going to do that again, okay?” he searches her face, seemingly trying to understand.

“But you don’t understand,” she tries to explain as tears burst forth again, “she said stuff that she knew about you, and I can’t ask you about any of it and you don’t want me to know anything about you and you’re going to hate me again. Margaery hates me now because I didn’t do what she wanted either.” She tries to pull away, and a small rational part of her knows she may be taking things too far.

Sandor grips her arms tightly and tries to get control of the situation as he asserts in a stern tone, “Sansa, it’s okay, get a hold of yourself. It’s not going to be like before, just take it one thing she said at a time instead of coming in here wanting me to tell you all my fucking shit. You don’t want to know everything about me, trust me in that at least. I was in a shitty mood that day anyway.”

“But I saw you earlier, you were drinking a beer,” she replies on impulse, regretting it immediately.

He forces an exhaled breath and sets her back down at the couch, arms length away. “I know, Rose just offered it, and I thought it couldn’t hurt.” He slumps down looking at her through his hair over the right side of his face. She reaches over to push it aside, even if there’s no ear for it to sit behind.

He continues, watching her, “You’re probably right about her though, she wasn’t that interested in what I had to say about you, and she looked pissed when I left her to catch you,” He chuckles to himself, rubbing his chin. That makes her feel better at least, and a light fluttering returns to her heart. She must look silly just sitting here with a curl of a smile returned to her face and her head cocked to the side just looking at him.

“There’s the happy little bird back,” he smirks at her with a little huff of laughter. “So you want to go back to your nest? I can give you a ride. It’s getting late.”

His steady gaze on her under his heavy brow is warming her up and sending that fluttering down into her belly. She doesn’t want to go home tonight. Clearing her voice to respond, she tries to rationalize staying over, “Well, we can get an early start with Tess in the morning if I stay over. We could watch a movie and have a sleepover.” She looks up at him hopeful.

He gets a mischievous smirk on his face, “You’re not going to seduce me, are you? Just a ‘sleepover,’ right?” He put air quotes around sleepover and laughs deep in his chest as she feels her whole face warm with embarrassment. _Gods, she forgets his teasing sometimes!_ She play kicks his foot to make him stop laughing but that only seems to add another layer to his amusement.

“Sandor, really! You said that just because you knew it would upset me,” she pouts, and he slowly stops his barrage of laughter with a happy smirk to his face. “If it makes you uncomfortable to have me here, I can always sleep down here,” she pats the couch and starts setting up the pillows and draping a blanket.

Evidently her threat works because he quickly responds, “Don’t worry about that, just don’t treat me like one of your girlfriends. I don’t want to be played with,” he adds in a sour tone. _Played with? How did he get that from sleepover?_

He tosses the remote to her, “Find what you want to watch, I’ll get the popcorn,” he tells her with a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. She finds a period piece on the Night’s King and though it’s a love story, Sandor might like some of the action in it. She’s always loved the costumes in this one, especially of the Other princess. He doesn’t complain when he comes back with the popcorn she had once forgotten to bring over and notices what she has chosen.

As he takes his seat on the couch, Sandor pulls her close around her shoulders, holding out the bowl for her. Tess takes this opportunity to jump up right between them. “Tess,” Sandor groans but luckily he saved the popcorn. She just giggles and makes room for the growing pup that doesn’t realize how much bigger she’s gotten. Lady and Stranger are laid down together nearby and everything seems as it should be. Suddenly realizing how tired she is, she’s not sure she’ll make it to the end as a yawn escapes her and she burrows in next to Sandor and Tess.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hard to be poke fun at Stannis after that touching scene with Shireen last week - was that a political ad? because now I'm pro-Stannis, also known as pretty much loving Shireen to death :)


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV: Morning

Waking up next to the little bird, Sandor takes a deep breath that stretches his back out lazily as he inhales her perfumed scent. How she can stand to sleep on his arm all night, probably too warm, continues to surprise him. She seems to be waking at the same time as him, her eyes blinking open as he shifts onto his side. Though he doesn’t know why he has her on his right side, at least his scars are mostly hidden in the pillow he rests on at the moment.

She looks around, getting her bearings, but doesn’t seem alarmed to be waking up in his bed. Silly little bird and her _sleepovers_. He had carried her up here after she fell asleep halfway into that sappy _Night’s King_. He had wanted to kiss her last night, especially after how she reacted to seeing him with Rose, but there always seems to be something in the way. When he caught her gaze, she had looked stunned with a lifeless stare like a light inside her was fading. He was so scared she was going to go back and hurt herself again or just pull a lighter out and burn her arm again right in front of him. He’d never seen her like that before, and it worried him. If she didn’t care about him more than a friend, she wouldn’t have thought twice about saying hello to him with another woman.

Still, hearing Margaery had kissed her and betrayed her was just great. If he kissed her last night, it would confuse her more. He knew Margaery had an eye for Sansa but didn’t realize she had such plans. Who would’ve thought? And the bitch had the nerve to try and throw him under the bus. He wants to know exactly what she said to the little bird, but Sansa seemed terrified last night that if she talked about it, he was going to get pissed at her again, though he can’t blame her.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, looking at him with the last vestiges of sleep. He marvels at how close she is, eye to eye, not so much the little bird flitting around him but a little lady dog in his bed. One of those purebreds, too good for the likes of him to mix with, he smirks to himself.

“You,” he answers her simply, as he wraps his other arm around her to play with her hair. Before, he was out of bed or getting out of it by the time she opened her eyes. Wanting to relish her bright hair and that little blue dress she has on amidst the plain bedding in morning light, he’s curious to test out these feelings of hers she thinks she has though he’s never really done whatever this is with a woman before.

She returns a little smile and starts to turn away to get up, but he tightens his arms around her, trying to rasp softly, “Stay.” Her deep blue eyes snap up to his and widen with a tinge of fear and surprise. He’s worried if he makes any sudden movements, she’d hop away like a scared rabbit, so he just keeps petting her hair softly and closes his eyes, breathing deeply.

He feels her relax in his arms, edge closer, and then gasp as she bumps into his chest. “Sandor, your shirt?” she reacts. He keeps his eyes closed as he smirks, “This is how I usually sleep, little bird, without one. You might as well get used to it.”

“Oh,” he hears her shy answer and then feels her lightly trace a scar on his chest, making his breath catch. Her hand goes up to hold onto his shoulder, and he can feel her looking at his face, which makes him a little nervous though he tries to stay still and allow her close study. Hearing her take a deep breath, he then feels her move closer still and press her soft, little lips to his and kiss him feather-light but still warm, jolting him with disbelief and thrilling him to his core.

Sandor’s eyes shoot open to see hers still closed as she leans back on her pillow, her lips still in their enticing pink pout. Not hesitating, his left hand goes up into her hair as his other trails down to the small of her back to trap her against him as he captures her lips with a hard kiss. Her eyes shoot open and blink, as if she’s shocked at his response. _Crazy bird to tempt him like that._ He relents a bit to savor her, closing his own eyes to focus attention on that mouth of hers that he’s wanted for so long.

Feeling her racing heartbeat against him like the caught rabbit and her firm buds hardening against his chest through that flimsy dress of hers excites him beyond belief, making him groan with satisfaction. As he takes his time to kiss her long and deep, she melds against him, seeming to come completely undone as she responds to meet his devouring advance. Her lips bloom like soft petals kissing him back with sweet affection making him slow down just to take it all in, becoming exhilarated as she opens herself up to him, letting him taste her even further.

Hearing her soft sounds of contentment make him respond in kind as he continues to crush her to him, moving lower to mold his hand around that fleshy, ripe peach of an ass as his other hand leaves her hair to find the hem of her dress riding up her thigh. Sansa squirms against him at these new attentions, pulling away though his lips try to follow as he places kisses down her arm.

“Sandor, I…” she starts, panting to catch her breath. _Gods, she’s beautiful like this._ Her hair astray and that mouth swollen from him, he feels a surge of pride to have this effect on her and doesn’t want it to ever stop until he’s full of her.

“Just stay right here, don’t get up,” he interrupts her, thinking of how he can keep her here and keep her from talking herself out of this with him. He can get her tea and breakfast even. She looks confused and tries to sit up, making sure her dress is in place.

“I don’t know, I…” she tries to address him again, so he kisses her for just a moment to stop her and tells her, “Don’t say anything yet, just stay right here.” She nods with a shy smile, pink all over, but then she turns redder as he gets up out of bed in just his boxer briefs. As she lowers her eyes to her lap after no doubt noticing the bulge he’s now sporting, his hunger hits him again full force.

Sliding some pants on, he can’t help but reach over the bed and gather her up to kiss one more time, hovering over her and kissing her forehead and each cheek. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” he whispers, kissing along her jaw back to her lips, which he can feel have curled into a little smile against his. _The little bird must like to be flattered like the little pet she is._

As he pulls away again with his thumb left stroking her cheek, she looks up at him so adoring that he knows she needed that extra convincing. “I promise I’ll stay right here,” she whispers back to him, lowering her gaze with a little smile. _Gods, she’s a precious little thing._ Giving her forehead a quick peck, he jumps up and heads downstairs, determined not to fuck up this chance.

Sandor searches through his kitchen, pulling out anything remotely breakfast related before settling on eggs, bacon, and toast with jam. He had got some bread with seeds in it, so she’ll like that, he grins to himself. Putting the bacon in the oven with a timer and letting the dogs out, he heads over to feed Crow in the pen. He still snarls at him but is coming around slowly. He only lets him socialize with Stranger for now though. _Wonder what Sansa will think of him_ , he considers, trying to get Crow to sit before he enters with the food and water.

Back inside, he sets to work on the toast and eggs, and as he accumulates everything he has to take upstairs, Sandor realizes he doesn’t have a tray or anything. _Shit, Sansa probably has ten fucking trays at her apartment._ Searching through the downstairs is fruitless, so he settles on a thin board he can use from outside. Wiping the board off, he’s stressing himself out with all these tasks at once:  trying to flip the bacon, getting the eggs cooked right, and starting the kettle. He has to redo the toast because it burned, _dammit_. Looking at everything, he’s losing his resolve and hating that Sansa’s probably just going to laugh at him.

_Whatever if she doesn’t like it she can go get her own breakfast,_ he says to himself. Assembling everything, he carefully balances the board with everything on it, including her tea and silverware and can barely squeeze up the stairs and into his room. _This is the last time I’m doing something this foolish_ , he berates himself. The look on the little bird’s face is priceless as she clasps her hands together, surveying everything he sets down on the bed, but he can see that hint of amusement in her smile.

“Well, go ahead and laugh if you want, but this is what I have,” he growls out before sitting down on the other side, having to catch her tea and his orange juice from sliding off.

“Oh no, did cooking breakfast for me make you grumpy?” she smiles with her mouth closed, trying not to laugh, and he tries not to look at her, hating when she calls him that word, it’s like her cute word for mad.

"Thank you, Sandor,” she nestles over next to him carefully, holding her tea now. “Did you forget I was vegetarian this morning?” she asks, buttering her toast and adding jam. _Fucking hells, the bacon! Can she eat eggs? Why didn’t he think about that?_ he kicks himself internally. Make her breakfast, forget she doesn’t even eat meat, and serve her a plate of bacon. He’ll never hear the end of this.

“I guess. Bacon shouldn’t count though,” he looks over at her, and she’s just smiling at him so sweetly, sitting like a poised princess.

“You didn’t cook the eggs in bacon grease, did you?” she questions.

“No, but I should have,” he snorts, that is actually a really good idea.

“But then I couldn’t eat them, silly,” she play hits him on the arm. She’s something else with her innocent flirting, actually kicked his foot last night like she’s in grade school or something. _What is he getting himself into with this naïve girl?_

As they finish eating and he wolfs down the majority of the bacon, Sansa speaks up, “Ya know, you should think about sourcing your bacon from a local, humane producer that operates on a much smaller scale than factory farms. How they treat pigs there is just,” she takes a shaky breath, getting emotional, “It’s just so terrible, like they’re in the worst prison imaginable being led to their deaths. And they’re such intelligent animals, like dogs, really.”

He’s holding another piece of bacon up to eat and just stops gaping at her. “Can’t you say something like that when I don’t have my mouth full of bacon? You just want me to stop eating meat like you, huh?” he bites at her impulsively. _It’s always something with this girl._

“Oh no, I didn’t mean you had to change or anything. It’s just I’d like you to be more conscious is all,” she anxiously explains while fiddling with her coffee cup. He hates seeing her deflated like that, and he’s the asshole, can’t just stop being an asshole like flipping a switch.

Finishing off his orange juice, he gets up to move the board off the bed and then takes her cup out of her hands to set it on his dresser, “I think you just need to be kissed more,” he smirks at her, trying not to let his scars pull. _Gods, he must be a sore sight to wake up to._ Still seated demurely, she looks up at him through her lashes as a little blush blooms again along with a shy smile. She’s so pretty like that; he could just look at her all day.

Sandor closes in on her, pulling her toward him with his hands around that tiny waist of hers, and it feels perfect to have her wrap her arms around his neck in acceptance as he lays down with her tucked next to him. He takes full command of his senses to explore all of her, the softness of her body as he runs his hands along her curves, the taste of her lips, the sweet real smell of her as he nuzzles along her ear earning him a giggle. Especially all her adorable noises and seeing those bright blue eyes look at him with wonder as her hands wander to his muscles.

“I don’t think I can stop kissing you, little bird,” he speaks as he looks over her form and sits up to reach out for her feet, taking one and kissing it while trailing up her long glorious leg with his hands. _Gods, he’s never been this hard, he’s going to need a cold fucking shower._ He pulls her closer with the leg as he kisses down it, but she squirms in his grasp, giggling and nearly kicking him as he squeezes the back of her thigh.

He hears her huff to his periphery, breathless, “Sandor, that’s ticklish. I’m starting to get dizzy, please slow down.” He takes a deep breath, reminding himself the little bird probably didn’t think her little kiss would lead to him ravishing her completely. He settles back next to her, with his arm over her waist, lightly petting her exposed upper back.

She seems to calm and focus on him with a warm gaze, mentioning, “I don’t think I thanked you for the little bird you left with my muffins. Is that from the Isle of Faces?”

“Depends on what you call thanking me,” he tightens his hold on her to pull her close for another kiss, but her eyes widen slightly.

“Wait, I just wanted to say it was really sweet, and I like it,” she smiles and he notices a little cut on her lip.

“Sansa, your lip?” he sits up and pulls her across his lap, looking for some way to remedy this injury.

“Sandor, you keep pulling me this way and that, no wonder I’m dizzy,” she stresses, and he realizes she’s probably right and just pets her hair softly. She trails her finger over her bottom lip, testing it with the tip of her tongue and explains, “It’s just opened up. I probably need my chap stick.”

“Where is it? I’ll get it for you.” He suggests, worried this is his fault, just like him to hurt her as soon as he gets his hands on her.

“As much as I’d like to give you this quest for me, I think I can manage it unless you’re planning to not let me get out of bed all day,” she jests, but that was his immediate plan.

He holds her close as he shifts forward so that they are laying back on the bed in reverse with him over her, and he kisses down her neck to give her lips a break, saying against her skin, “You figured me out, smart little bird.” His touch lingers down the soft inside of her arms, stretching them out as he clasps her hands in his, holding her down as he pours out open mouth kisses along her collarbone and her shoulder, gently sucking on the skin there. Beneath him, she seems to melt as quickly as ice in the sun as she softly hums during his ministrations, relinquishing control to him. He squeezes her hands in his, groaning at how much he wants her completely.

Barely conscious enough to know he’s probably wearing her out, he lies to the side and pulls her up over him on his back. Sansa lays her head down on his chest after pressing a little kiss to the spot and lets out a deep breath, closing her eyes. He pulls her hair tie out she’d put in while he was making breakfast to run his fingers through it, but she pouts, “I need a shower, it’s all tangled and dirty.”

“I could remedy that but then you’d be out of the bed,” he grazes his hands over her back.

“I really would like to get up for a shower and find my chap stick,” she turns her head to smile pleadingly into his eyes with mirth.

“Not until you agree to let me take you on one of these dates as you call them tonight,” he feels an echo of fear as he continues to breathe shallowly, hoping she wouldn’t reject him now.

Silent, her eyes stare into his for a moment and he can see apprehension and fear there. “Okay, we can try that,” she rests her head back down and she feels tense on top of him.

Shifting her to his side, Sandor looks into her eyes as he pets her hair back that he unleashed, “I know you swore off boys and you’re scared, but I’m not a boy, Sansa. I’m going to take care of you. What’s wrong? Don’t shut me out now.”

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just worried is all,” she replies looking a little sad. It upsets him that she’s so down about being with him.

“Nothing has to change unless you want it to, but I would like to keep kissing you at least,” he pulls her close, setting his chin over her head, and she burrows herself into his chest. He feels a slight wetness like she’s crying a little.

He holds her closer, probably too tight, because it feels like he could lose her at any moment, and he wouldn’t recover well from that after this morning. He thinks to himself, _you can’t kiss me like this and not be mine_.

After a few more moments, he loosens his hold and helps her get up. She wasn’t joking about being dizzy, she’s as wobbly as a newborn foal, clutching onto his arm as she tries to regain her balance. Maybe he shouldn’t take her worries too seriously, she seems pretty disoriented from his attentions, and he can’t help but feel a little pride in that.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m like this,” she chirps as he has to help her down the stairs. He’d carry her but that would make her faint at this point, he grins to himself.

“I think I might have an idea or two why,” he nudges her side, and she throws a bashful smile his direction. Guiding her to the kitchen table, he sets all her stuff there for her, and she pulls out her chap stick and her phone. He notes that her lips could probably use some rest, only until tonight though because she may need more convincing if her little bird body can take it.

“Oh my gods, it’s like noon,” she exclaims, looking at her phone. Then, she appears to scroll through some things, so he gets up to make sure the dogs are all okay.

“Do you want to meet the new dog?” he asks her.

She nods but then looks down, “Maybe in a few minutes, can I have some water?”

Getting that for her, he sets it down and watches her drink greedily from the glass as he pets her hair and leans down to place a kiss on the crown of her head. _Poor thing is dehydrated, you idiot,_ he scolds himself.

Sitting next to her, he reaches out for her hand and rubs his thumb over the back of it. She seems to try and collect herself for a few minutes on her phone before she tries to get up. She’s a little better as he helps her out the back door to lead her over to where Crow is.

“Don’t try to pet him,” he instructs her though she doesn’t make a move to become acquainted with the snarling shepherd.

“He’s beautiful, you should keep him, though I hope he becomes more manageable,” she grins up at him. _Fuck it,_ he thinks, and lifts her off her feet to kiss her one more time. As he sets her back down, she starts breathless, “Sandor, I…”

“I know, little bird, now you should get back and shower and change and what not before I make you pass out. Unless you want me to come with you?” he glances down at her, a little hope stirring.

“It may be good to be apart for a few hours at least,” she smiles up at him, but he can see how exhausted she is.

“I’ll drive you and Lady home, okay? I will not have you walking in this state.” Luckily she nods and doesn’t protest, and he takes her back home, glad that he at least secured whatever a date will be with her so he can stop being her blasted friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed it - and they're going to go on a real date next!!! 
> 
> We need a prayer circle for tonight to deal with Game of Thrones, but we'll see, I may not be able to sleep tonight.
> 
> Will probably only update this story once a week from now on, running into a little low spell.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: The Date :)

After getting out of her shower, Sansa grabs her journal and tries to detail everything that happened between last night and this morning and then clutches it to her chest as she squeals with excitement, kicking her legs out on the bed, so happy. She can’t believe she did it, she kissed Sandor Clegane! She had been thinking about it since Margaery kissed her and how she didn’t really feel anything with her. It made her think about when Sandor almost kissed her and how terrifying it had been, how her whole body was affected so strongly. As he lay there this morning, asking her to stay in his arms but not pressuring, just holding her with his eyes closed on the pillow, she knew she didn’t want to lose him again, especially not to Rose.

And then he kissed her back and wouldn’t stop kissing her until he brought her breakfast in bed! It was so unlike him, he probably doesn’t even know it’s a romantic thing to do. And he brought her a plate of bacon! She giggles, thinking of how adorable it was that he had been so wrapped up in bringing her breakfast, he forgot she was vegetarian. And what was it he used for a tray, a board? She would have to remedy that, but it was precious.

It was probably the best morning of her life, and then he actually asked her on a date for tonight! _Oh gods,_ she was in such a daze at his house, she couldn’t think and almost felt nauseous from his constant attention and pulling her this way and that. _It was fun though_ , she smiles to herself. She was worried a few times he was going to try and have sex with her right then and there, which makes her particularly nervous. Especially when he was kissing her neck and shoulder, and she could’ve lost consciousness it was so lovely. She’s never been kissed like that, and then she was so embarrassed that she could barely walk on her own. Sandor seemed very pleased about that, but what will it be like if they do have sex?

Now that the whole morning is processing, she feels like she’s walking on a cloud around her apartment and like she’s seeing it all for the first time. She decides to go through her closet, thinking it might be fun to wear one of her nicer dresses tonight, but then looks at the time, wondering if she’s going to have to wait until dinner to see him again. _Sansa,_ she berates herself to slow down. Melisandre thinks she needs to work on being more independent, and she’s not going to be happy about her getting into a relationship. _It’s about a year since she broke up with Joffrey the first time at least._

Checking her phone, she has another message from Rivers, asking why the silence this morning. She texts him vague details about what went down with Margaery, and he asks if she needs support. She just smiles to herself, knowing she already has all the support she needs. Finding Sandor’s contact, which she’s had to use Tess’s picture for, _another thing to remedy_ , she presses call.

“Sansa?” he answers, sounding slightly worried. _She hopes he doesn’t think she’d cancel on him._

“Hey,” she exhales, looking up at the ceiling and feeling giddy just hearing his voice, “I just wanted to know what time we were getting together later. Should I dress for dinner or did you have something else in mind?”

“Anytime. That’s fine. I’ll text you when I head over but around dinnertime, okay? I’m just working with Crow some and then shower and head over, maybe early.”

“Okay,” her smile is killing her because she can’t stop. “Can’t wait,” she adds sweetly.

“Don’t tempt me, little bird, I can be there in less than fifteen minutes,” he answers her, and she thinks she can see that smirk of his right through the phone.

She giggles, “Well, I’ll see you for dinner. Bye Sandor,” she ends, feeling like her heart could burst.

She decides to put on some of her dance music to get some of this energy out as she spins around in her underwear and Lady looks on confused. _Maybe they can dance again, like they did in the lake!_ She picks out one of her favorites, a pink little dress with lace and what not and accessorizes it and has it all set out on the bed to put on closer to when he might come over. _What do I do know?_ she wonders before sighing and setting to do chores and some studying. 

* * *

She checks the mirror before coming to the door, hoping everything is perfect, and opens up to Sandor with a little, "Hi," smiling at him from the doorway. Stranger enters to greet Lady with some nuzzles and pulls Sandor’s arm with the leash, which seems to bring him back to his senses from standing there staring at her. He looks down, rubbing his jaw before coming towards her, and she notices he wore his blue shirt.

She looks up into his eyes as he nears her, feeling like a bundle of nerves now that he’s here in the flesh. The way he looks at her and then ghosts his hands over her waves of hair and the lace of her dress, taking her in completely, makes her feel like the most beautiful girl who’s ever lived without him saying a word. He whispers, “Little bird,” like she’s this precious, untouchable creature, and she can’t take it anymore and raises up further in her heels to kiss him.

Sandor responds immediately, holding her so tightly that her feet lift off the floor, and he presses against her lips harder before covering them and continuing to kiss her eagerly. _He can be a bit messy,_ she can’t help but think. She suddenly feels panic grip her like a flashback as she remembers her lip-gloss.

Sandor must feel her still against him because he pulls back with a questioning look but also a sadness in his eyes like he fears her rejection still. It should be funny how her bright cherry lip-gloss has smeared all over his mouth, but fear is all she can feel. She mumbles, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get my lip gloss on you. It won’t happen again,” and averts her eyes to the floor.

Sandor laughs, “Strange way to say you wish you hadn’t kissed me. That’s the second time today, too.” He’s holding her arms, then moves one of his hands to lift her chin to meet his eyes, and asks seriously, “Why are you shaking, little bird?” He searches her own eyes, but she sees a war of conflicting emotions in his and for once he’s doing nothing to guard them. He pleads with her, “Sansa, don’t do this, don’t not tell me. You looked so happy when you opened the door, and you look so pretty. What did I do? I’ll never do it again.”

Sansa feels like she can’t breathe, and she’s ruining everything as tears start to form in her eyes that’ll smudge her makeup. “I can’t do this,” she mumbles and feels Sandor’s grip tighten on her arms, almost painfully. Trying to pull away, she relents to letting him hold her hand as she walks toward the bathroom. He’s just watching her under his heavy brow, not letting go of her, so she takes a deep breath and kind of smiles since he still has all the lip-gloss on his mouth, compromising his severe demeanor. She grabs a washcloth and cleans her own face, wiping off all the makeup she had spent half an hour perfecting. Then, she starts on his face as he leans against the counter away from the mirror. It’s actually nice to just study his lips and see that burnt corner she felt when they made out all morning.

Feeling more calm, she tries to explain, “This may sound weird, but I remembered I had lip-gloss on and…I kind of panicked” she takes another deep breath, trying to count through her inhales and exhales like Melisandre said could help. “My ex was very particular about what kind of lip makeup I wore and would get angry if I wore something like I had on, but I had to wear something at the same time.”

“Why?” Sandor seems very confused.

“Because it would come off on him, and he particularly wouldn’t like that in public. I had to wear full makeup though and…” she sighs, remembering the stress of having to be perfect all the time, hoping that would make things perfect with Joffrey. If anything were off, he would criticize her to no end and demand she make it up to him. “I’m sorry,” her lip trembles, and she rubs her palm against the dress. It’s so pretty, but it’s something she would’ve worn for him.

“None of that. I understand, but don’t worry,” he pulls her towards him and since he doesn’t seem mad, she places her head on his chest and hugs him, letting him make her feel safe again. “For one, I’m never going to be angry at you for kissing me.” He kisses her hair and gently moves his hand to her face for her to look at him. “You also don’t need any makeup, I like you like this,” he takes her face in both his hands and tentatively kisses her. He seems so worried she’s going to slip out of his grasp that it endears him to her more.

She softly kisses him back for a moment before she places her hands on his, pulling them down to hold in her own as she looks up at him, “Thank you, Sandor. I’m sorry, I just wanted everything to be perfect, and I’ve already ruined it by being sad.”

“This is perfect, Sansa, you have no idea,” he squeezes her hands and makes her want to believe him. “Come on, I’m hungry,” he smirks at her and that’s her favorite expression of his right there. She sighs quietly as her gaze trails down his thick neck to the broad expanse of his shoulders and chest, and she feels like this must be the origin of swooning, here in the close quarters of her bathroom.

Sandor snorts, “Little bird, I better get you out of her before you eat me.” Her eyes snap back up to his, mortified, and she doesn’t even need to check the mirror behind him to know she’s starting to blush.

She mock hits his arm, though that doesn’t help with her swooning, still she scolds him, “Sandor, that was too much,” she pouts. Then, she thinks of something to joke back, “It’s not like I eat meat anyways,” and flips her hair, walking out of the bathroom.

Sandor bursts with laughter rumbling through him, bending over with his hands on his legs as if needing to catch his breath. “Gods, you’re going to fucking kill me one of these days with your innocent whatever it is.” He takes a deep breath before standing back up, shaking his head at her, “Seven hells, girl, how you’ve stuck around with me this long and still barely know anything, I have no idea.”

“I hate it when you laugh at me,” she snips, “I’m not innocent either,” and turns away from him to make sure her things are in order to leave.

“Hey, don’t get like that. It just took me by surprise, and I tried to contain myself. It’s not like I spelled it out for you,” he argues.

“Well, no wonder I don’t know anything since you never explain what’s so funny, and it’s not going to kill you,” she eyes him, trying to gather her courage in being a proper lady.

He looks amused at her as he opens the door for them to leave, “There’s my lady,” he says in humor as he kisses the side of her head as she walks through the door, but it still feels sweet.

Sandor had decided to take her to the café in the old center they had liked last week, and she can’t blame him for not being more original at the spur of a moment since he knows she likes the place. She remembers even admitting she would like to go on a date there perhaps.

As he pulls her into the restaurant after him, she can tell he’s not as confident as he acts when he addresses the hostess, noticeable by the twitch at the corner of his mouth. That’s his _modus operandi_ when out in public with his scowl in place, though she’d like to think she’s really seeing that spark in his eyes tonight when he looks at her. Looking at him, it tears her apart to think about how he’s had to live like that, his angry red scars open for everyone to gawk at and judge. She hates the attention she gets sometimes for just being a woman and often tries to dress more modest to no avail. It took her awhile before she stopped noticing his scars as much. They are just a part of his face now. Still, she understands now after their fight that he hates them, has never truly accepted them no matter what he says, and she knows to never bring it up again even though it gnaws at her to think he can’t talk to her about it. She tries to be open with him as problems have arisen.

Sitting down in a corner of the room, Sansa places her napkin in her lap and orders only water. Sandor had insisted she get whatever she wants, and though a glass of wine would be perfect, she doesn’t want to tempt him. She smiles over at him, outstretching her palm on the table to him, wanting him to be comfortable here with her, “I do like this place, it’s sweet of you to bring me back here.”

“I knew you liked it,” he tries to shrug off before reaching out to the side of the table, bypassing her hand for the back leg of her chair. Startled, she gasps when it’s clear he’s dragging her over next to his left side and scraping the chair legs on the floor. She feels like everyone’s eyes are on her now, and she chides him so only he can hear, “Sandor, what are you doing?”

“That’s better,” is all he says as he wraps his arm around her waist and holds the menu up for them, which she is at least partly hidden behind. Being so close to him here at the table fills her with a nervous thrill despite or maybe because of how improper it feels. She tries to relax though it’s just different than she expected. The waiter comes to take their order, and he looks at her sympathetically and only directs his questions to her, which seems odd.

“Are you okay, miss? Are you ready to order?” Sansa looks over to see Sandor glaring at the guy but also looking a bit crestfallen. Then it clicks, the guy pities her for being here with Sandor, which was probably amplified by him dragging her over to his side. Putting Sandor’s impropriety aside, her blood boils at this slight to him. She’s never been as excited for a date as tonight, _well, okay, maybe with Joffrey when she was still stupid about him,_ and she’s not going to have some asshole ruin it _._

Sansa sits up straighter in her chair, tugging Sandor’s arm closer around her, and tries to summon her mother’s most assertive tone, “We are not prepared to order, and as you can see, we would appreciate it if someone would rearrange our table.” Sandor moves to get up, but she just holds onto his arm for dear life to keep him from moving the table himself. _Gods, this man, I’m going to have to train him!_

The waiter shuffles away, and someone is out promptly to “fix” their table. She peers over at Sandor who’s petting her hair slightly and looking her over with a restrained longing. He melts her heart a little with his misdirected attentiveness, and she’s concerned her encouragement may embolden him further at the restaurant. Still, she drops his napkin in his lap and grabs her menu, announcing, “Now, I must figure out what I’m going to order. No more distractions.”

At this declaration, Sandor leans towards her and pulls her tighter against him, as he rasps in her ear, “Do you know how sexy you are when you order people around, especially me?” and then nuzzles her hair. Despite the involuntary warmth his sentiment spreads through her, her breath catches and she feels her stomach flip, uncomfortable with him saying that to her.

She gulps, “Well, I guess you’ll think that of my mother then.”

Sandor barks a laugh, adding bitterly, “I’m sure your father will like me even more then.” She tries to focus on her menu and ignore her building anxiety. He doesn’t remove his arm around her as the waiter returns and they order. Sandor argued with him about getting a whole roasted chicken rather than a half like he did before.

“That chicken is so good I could eat every fucking chicken they got. Might have to if our waiter continues to be an asshole,” he snorts and pulls his arm loose, stretching out with a yawn before settling it back around her shoulders. “So, what’s next?” he looks over at her like it should be obvious what he refers to, but there’s also something sheepish about him since he’s being vague.

Slightly amused, she questions, “What do you mean?”

He sniffs, rubbing his jaw line and exposing his neck to crack it, which stirs her inside for some reason. “Ya know, after this date?” he shrugs, not looking at her.

“Tonight?” she questions and can hear the quiver in her voice drawing his gaze as her heart accelerates and that fear holds her prisoner again. _What if he expects her to have sex with him?_

“What’s wrong?” he narrows his eyes at her, “you’re acting all upset again.”

Putting her hand over her chest to calm her breathing, she responds harshly, “I don’t know what you’re asking, and you’re making me nervous.”

Moving his arm out from behind her, he covers her hand with his on her thigh to reassure her but that does little to alleviate her worries. Defensive and somewhat ashamed, he growls, “You know I don’t know anything about this dating and all your rules after sitting in this very room a week ago, so I need to know what’s next.”

_Oh!_ she realizes and lets out a breath as she remembers their conversation last week, _would that have counted as their first date?_ Then her heart starts to build with excitement – _he means he wants to date me! He asked me out based on that explanation I gave him, he was asking me how to date me!_ All of this hits her and she could almost laugh in relief and jubilation. However, Sandor levels at her, “What did you think I was asking you?” and she thinks, _shit,_ as the big smile spreading across her face falters.

Deciding to answer his first question, her smile brightens, as she looks down at his hand over hers and smoothes her other hand over it. “First of all, usually people continue to go on dates until you decide together that you don’t want to see anyone else and then you become girlfriend and boyfriend together in a relationship if that’s what you want. Some people have open relationships…”

Sandor jumps in on her explanation, “That’s what I want,” making her look up at him wide-eyed, _an open relationship!_ “Not that, the first one, gods,” he huffs and moves to extricate his hand but she holds onto it. Sandor looks down at the table, letting his hair fall over his face to hide as it were.

“Oh, sorry,” she tries to salvage their conversation, but then the food picks the worst timing to be delivered to their table. Sandor seems to welcome the distraction, cracking off a chicken leg with one hand and ripping off the roasted skin to eat straight with his other hand he freed.

“Let’s go ahead and eat, then we’ll talk about it more, okay?” she nudges him since he seems unable to do both at the same time. He grunts, continuing to attack his chicken, and she rolls her eyes as she picks up her fork and knife, though it does smell divine.

After he seems to have picked the meal clean, she ventures before she takes another bite of her pasta, “So, are you going to keep seeing Rose?”

He looks over at her a little apprehensive, “First of all, I was never really seeing her, it was one date, I guess, and no I don’t, unless you count going by the bakery?”

“You could still go by the bakery, of course. I would just ask that you not flirt with her or talk with her overly much.” She takes a deep breath a little nervous voicing that request. He’s wiping his hands on his napkin, then his mouth, before he settles his arm around her again, “I think I can manage that. What about you?”

“Well, as you know I had sworn off boys, so I’m not seeing anyone other than you at the moment and don’t plan on it. It’s actually about right at a year from when I first broke up with Joffrey,” she mentions before she realizes what she’s said.

“The first time?” Sandor immediately questions, as the dread sinks through her.

She sighs, “It’s complicated but he had begged me to get back together with him after break, promising things would be different, and my parents were encouraging me to try to work through things. It was stupid though, and I only dated him for two weeks that next semester before I ended things again.” She tries to be succinct, particularly not mentioning the fact he had proposed at the end of those two weeks - when she realized she couldn’t live the rest of her life with him and she shouldn’t be with him.

“It’s okay, little bird,” he responds, stroking her side softly with his hand and watching her.

She takes a steadying breath to ask, “We could be together now, if you wanted, or date some more to get to know each other.”

“What do you want?” he responds, looking at her with his vulnerable dog eyes.

“I feel like I know you pretty well, so I feel like I’m ready to be together though I’d like to still go on dates,” she answers timidly.

He seems a bit confused at her response, “Be together but still go out on dates?”

“Yes, like do stuff with each other, like have dinner.”

He sighs, shaking his head, “This is all so crazy, and I don’t get it. Will have to ask Elder Brother about it, didn’t go through all this trouble ever before.”

“You haven’t had a girlfriend before?” Sansa’s surprised and a little concerned at this news though a silly part of her actually feels special.

“No,” he shakes his head, not really caring to dwell. “But you’ll be mine now, right?” he looks at her so hopeful that it melts her completely.

“Yes, if you’ll be mine?” she abandons the rest of her meal and turns to embrace him, not caring anymore what anyone here thinks. Sandor’s immediately flagging down their waiter to get the check, which reminds her of her earlier thoughts and that anxious feeling returns. _Should she have him stay over tonight or will he expect more now?_

“Sandor?” she starts, worried to upset him.

“Yeah,” he looks over at her, looking so happy for once till he notices something’s bothering her. “What is it? What were you worried about earlier?”

“Promise you won’t get upset,” she looks down at her hands, fumbling.

“Sansa, I promise, fine, what is it?” he places a hand over both of hers.

Shaking slightly, she feels like she needs to get this out and looks up at him, “I’d rather we not have sex tonight.”

His face contorts to a disbelieving smirk before he realizes she’s serious. Then, his eyes are searching her face as he responds, “I didn’t expect that. Did I make you think that I was going to ask for that?” He seems dumbfounded as he rubs his other hand through his hair, “I know you’re pretty innocent, and I thought you may even still be a virgin, but I still…” he searches for words as he signs their check.

Standing up, Sandor grabs her hand and leads her outside a little way from the café and holds her tight against him. Slipping a hand up under her hair, gently brushing through it, he says to her, “I don’t know what happened to you with your ex, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to have sex with me, okay? I’m not expecting that from you right now, not until you want it.” She paws at his shirt and just lets the tears fall as she holds onto him. He rubs her back and seems broken as he quietly mumbles, “I don’t want you to be scared of me, especially with that.”

“Okay, boyfriend,” she pulls away, wiping her eyes, and gives him a little smile, sniffling. Even though she had to walk him through the concept of dating under an hour ago, there may be a lot more he needs to hold her hand through in the future.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I wrote this before Amy Schumer released her One Direction spoof, "Girl, you don't need makeup" - but now I can't stop thinking of that song with the scene here where Sandor tells her he likes her just like she is, it is a bit corny I guess :) but IDGAF.
> 
> Also, finally got to do some chicken lines :)


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 29: Sandor POV

“Wow, you gift us with your presence,” Arya sneers at him as he logs into Nomad and joins their party. He had taken a fairly long hiatus and just started back last week, and the guys couldn’t complain, their khalasar had taken a lot of hits in his absence.

“Did your sister tell you?” he sniffs audibly in the mic, being nonchalant.

“What? About your activities in King’s Landing – found that out on my own, bitch.” She responds disinterested.

“Not that,” he chuckles, _Arya always thinks she’s on top of shit_. “We’re together now.” Kind of stupid to mention it, but he thought the little bird would’ve told her sister by now.

“Oh, wonderful,” Arya snarks, “I was starting to worry she was falling for a gay man.”

“What the fuck!?” he barks, threatening. _There’s not someone else is there?_

“Interesting bondage subjects,” is all she says and cackles sharply.  _Stranger save me, the girl can’t be the little bird’s sister._

One of the guys replies, “What the living fuck are you guys talking about?”

“I’m not fucking gay, and me and your sister are together, dammit," Sandor snarls back into the mike.  _S_ _hould’ve never fucking said a word._

Still laughing, she manages to get out, “You should really be more sensitive to people of different orientations. My sister would not like the fact that you’re a homophobe. She’d find out another thing she has to fix about her project boyfriend, too bad he’s a bitter old ass.”

“I don’t give a shit,” he grits out. _Gods, her sister does nothing to help his shit if anything makes it harder. Project boyfriend,_ he snorts, trying to not let it get to him.

Arya admits, “Anyways, I’m glad number one douchebag is taken care of though I’d rather see him six feet under."

“Second that, and know what went down wasn’t my idea. I had help. Just keep an eye on the web, Liam Neeson.”

Taking it in stride, Arya points out, “You should be Liam Neeson, then I can be Snowden.”

“Fucking hells, get me some heals,” Sandor yells into the mike, nearly dying. “I already have a moniker in case you didn’t know.”

“So are you with her sister IRL?” Lommy asks him.

“Stop talking like a cunt, Lommy. I don’t know what IRL is?” he bites back.

“In real life, man, get with the times,” he responds.

“Yes, fuck you,” Sandor responds.

“So what was she like?” one of the guys asks.

“What the fuck are you asking me?” he snarls back into the mike.

“You said you got together with Prick’s sister? Was she any good?”

“I don’t want to hear about that, idiot,” Arya yells at them.

“Like I’m going to talk to you idiots about that.” _Shit he used the same word as Arya._ “You don’t immediately sleep with a girl you date anyways, you’d know that if you’d ever been on one.”

Arya starts laughing, “Yes, thanks for sharing with us your limited dating experience with my proper sister.” _Fuck her!_ “As long as she doesn’t bring you home for Sevenmas, I could care less,” she remarks flippantly.

A cold pause creeps through him at this news, _shit, she’s going be heading home for Sevenmas soon._ “How soon is she leaving?”

“Oh gods,” Arya sighs, “you’re going to miss her, aren’t you? She’ll be coming here the week after next.” The idea of her being away worries him, like she’ll wake up and realize she doesn’t want to deal this old, washed up man in her life when she’s better off without him. She might even forget about him or decide not to come back to Maidenpool – she’s mentioned it before.

After he doesn’t say anything, Arya adds, “Oh, you should probably get her a gift for Sevenmas, you’ll thank me later.”

“Good idea.” He should probably get her something before she goes, too.

After finishing up their raid, he gets ready to leave and head over to the little bird’s since she’d texted she was done with classes for today. She’s been busy with her schoolwork and lamenting her finals next. He’d just been too stupid to realize she’ll to be going home after.

There’s something new to her smile as she opens the door and looks up at him. It was there on Saturday and it warms him to see her so happy, especially looking at him. After letting Stranger in to see Lady, Sandor pulls her to him, somewhat abruptly evidenced by her gasp and slight blush. How she can still seem so shy at times is a wonder after he’s kissed her more times than he can count at this point, particularly Sunday morning. He leans lower to kiss her, and she’s there with her eager little pout, lifting up on her tiptoes to get nearer to him. She makes the sweetest pleased hum as he connects with her and then shifts his head to the side to pull her lips into his further. He releases her for a breath and grabs her arm, trailing his mouth along it before kissing her healing wound from the burn.

Sandor returns to her mouth, throwing the door closed behind him, and lifts her up on the kitchen counter, making her nearly taller than him. As he kisses down her neck, that long, glorious neck of hers, her hands go into his hair, and he rasps against her skin, “I missed you, especially last night and the night before that, and now I hear you’ll be leaving soon.”

“Did you talk to Arya or something?” She smoothes her fingers through his hair, sending enticing signals through him. He looks up at her, loving the sight of her swollen lips parted, “Yeah, played a raid with her this morning. I told her about us.”

This makes her beam at him, though he doesn’t understand why. “Really! I had wanted to tell her over the phone and haven’t had time to call her yet. What did she say?”

“You know her. She said wonderful but not really meaning it. I don’t think she really cared as long as you didn’t take me home with you.”

“Oh,” Sansa responds, and settles her hands on his shoulders, looking a bit down, “I don’t think I’m going to tell my parents yet.”

“I understand that,” he lets out a sour laugh. _Gods, her father, how’d he forget about that? Oh right, she’s fucking gorgeous._

He edges back toward her, telling her, “Might get you something for Sevenmas before you go, what do you want?” His hands had shifted lower around her hips as he pulls her toward him on the counter, poking her a bit since he’d hardened some from kissing her. Sansa flinches away from him and pulls her legs up on the counter. Her eyes widened as if she’s scared and look down at his pants. “Just an early present,” he smirks at her, but those blue eyes flick back to glare at him, not finding it funny.

“Little bird,” he moves to grab her arms, “What is it? You must’ve noticed it before, haven’t you?”

She looks down at her hands, all red in the face, but tries to communicate with him, “I know, it’s just,” she appears to gulp before saying, “your penis,” very softly.

“Yeah,” he responds, not really understanding. He knows she might be a virgin, but it’s not like he’s trying to force himself on her. If anything he wasn’t thinking about it, it just felt natural to be closer to her, especially there.

She looks up at the ceiling like she’s trying to think and collect herself before rambling out in one breath, “I don’t know why and it’s stupid, but I’m kind of scared,” she finally breathes before adding, “of it,” and her face scrunches up slightly. He wants to laugh but doubts that will help the situation. _The little bird’s afraid of his cock_ , he smirks to himself.

“Is it just the size? You haven’t even seen it yet. Do you want to? Will that help?” He tries to figure out some way to fix this situation. As he reaches down to undo his pants, her hands fly to stop him, and she sputters, “No, can we just deal with this later?” Then, she must realize how close she is to that part of him, as she seems to panic, pulling back and slipping off the counter to compose herself.

“Sandor,” she starts, turning around to him. He comes to her, sliding his hands down her arm, saying, “I didn’t mean to upset you. You okay? Just tell me what to do.” He leans over to kiss her cheek, wrapping his hand behind her neck and rubbing her ear lobe with his thumb before he claims her mouth again, willing her to accept him, hoping she’ll be able to accept all of him someday. Sansa kisses him back for a few minutes before pulling away, seeming better already.

“I don’t know about a present, but I do have a favor to ask,” she looks up at him hopefully in that way that worries him, that she probably knows it’s something he won’t like or she would’ve just said it.

“Just tell me,” he rasps.

“Well,” she tucks some of her hair behind her ear, “I have put off my final project for drawing class because I really wanted you to sit for me. Do you think you could do that for me?”

“Sit?” _What is it she’s really asking him?_

“So I can draw you,” she says slowly, then tries to convince him with her biggest smile.

Though the idea makes him uncomfortable, he doesn’t see the harm in it, if that’s what she wants. “Sure,” he shrugs, as a kind of nervousness and dread settles in his gut.

“Really? Awesome!” she responds, looking excited but a bit sheepish as she starts pulling out her art stuff. Her anxiety shows as she’s a bit shaky when she pulls him over to sit on a chair, luckily it’s not that fucking yellow couch.

“Can you take your shirt off?” she requests, pinking her cheeks a lovely shade. He lifts it over his head, throwing it at her playfully. As she side steps it towards him, he pulls her into his lap, kissing down her side. “Sandor,” she playfully chides him, though he can tell she appreciates all the attention he’s giving her.

“Sure you can sit over there and look at me the whole time like this,” he jokes with her.

“I do want you to be comfortable, it may take a few hours,” she kisses him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I’m comfortable like this,” he smirks into her kiss, roaming his hands over her curves, and making her giggle.

“Seriously though, if you’d rather lie down you can?” she tells him.

“What on that sad excuse for a couch?”

“Or my bed,” she responds coyly.

“Mmmm,” he kisses along her neck, “Does that mean I can sleep?”

“If you want, though I’d rather draw your eyes open.” That makes him pause, his anxiety returning full force, especially since he thought she was just going to draw his chest after asking him to take his shirt off.

“This is fine, let’s just get it over with,” he responds, probably too cold based on the look on her face as he slides her off him.

She sets up her easel and paper and seems to be covering it all in that black stuff she uses. “You can relax right now, I’m just prepping the page.”

He stands up to get some water in the kitchen and comes back over by her. “What are you doing?” he asks confused by the now all-black paper, which is much larger than he had envisioned when she mentioned drawing.

“I’m doing a reverse charcoal drawing, I thought it would be cool to have you come out of the darkness. I’m ready when you are,” she looks up at him, with a thin-lipped smile. He’s taken aback by how planned she is about this; it’s not a fleeting idea of hers she had today. She’s got the vision for it and everything.

Sitting back across from her, she tries to tell him some different poses to do before getting up and adjusting his face to look slightly to his right and down, letting some of his hair fall but not as much as he’d like. She nudges his elbow up on the table for him to lean on slightly.

“Is this okay? Let me know if you need to take a break,” she tells him and he nods, looking up at her under his brow from the position he’s placed her in and she smiles, pressing a light kiss to the top of his head. It makes him smirk, her mimicking him by kissing the top of his head.

She sets to work, biting her bottom lip, with an eraser in hand or that charcoal stuff interchangeably. She’s looking at him but not really at _him_ , and it’s a strange sort of inspection he’s never really undergone before. As uncomfortable as the experience is on that level, soon he understands why she was so concerned with his comfort. It’s fucking annoying as all seven hells to be in the same position for any length of time and boring as shit on top of it.

He tries to power through another half an hour before declaring, “Hate to cunt out on you but I have to move.” He gets up and stretches his back out, extending his arms behind him before bending down towards his toes.

“You’re doing a really good job,” she tells him in that melodic tone of hers when everything is right in the little bird’s world.

He comes toward her and she motions for him to stop, “No, I don’t want you seeing it till it’s done. I won’t have you laugh at my attempts.” And she flies over to the sink to wash her hands.

“Sansa, I’m not going to laugh at you,” he follows her to the kitchen. It worries him when she says stuff like that, how she must think of him. “Can we lay down for a bit?” he rasps into her ear as he comes up behind her at the sink and wraps his arms around her belly. He likes holding her like this, and she’s all warm and soft against him.

“Okay, but fifteen minutes only, I really need to get this done, it’s due by the end of the week.” She giggles when he must touch a ticklish spot on her side, _he’s been finding a lot of those lately,_ he grins to himself. Then she says, “I would never have thought you’d be so affectionate,” which surprises him. _He’s not really affectionate, is he?_

“What are you talking about?” he picks her up because that always makes her smile and carries her into her bedroom. It was his first time in here last Saturday when he stayed over after their date. He’s tempted to buy her a new bed as her double is not made for him and his feet sit off it annoyingly. _Maybe that could be her Sevenmas gift._

“You’re very affectionate. I mean I’ve only been in a relationship with a psychopath so what do I know, but you touch me a lot it seems. I just didn’t expect it or know how much you were holding back before. I feel like you’re going to worry I’m not affectionate enough for you.” He can’t hold back laughing at that, just the fact he can hold her and she kisses him back is affection enough from her.

She pouts at him for his laughter, so he kisses her roughly, climbing on top of her before answering, “Maybe it’s your fault for being so soft.” He rubs his hands down her arms to the hem of her shirt to pull it over her. She gasps, “Sandor, I don’t know,” and he sighs. She’d yelped violently when he had slid his hand over her breast and squeezed her Sunday morning, so this must all be too sudden for her. He’s not used to waiting for what he wants to do to a woman, so it’s like he can’t stop touching her when she’s right there and he can touch her now.

“It’s not too much, is it? I mean if it’s annoying, I can stop maybe,” he pulls away from her.

“No, I love it! The thought had just occurred to me.” Her eyes go wide at him, probably worried now that he'll stop. She slips herself by his side in the crook of his arm and runs her fingers through his chest hair. “You know what I was thinking that night on the Isle of Faces? I cuddled right up next to you like this and thought, ‘this is my favorite place now.’ I just didn’t realize how much I was coming to care for you.” This sort of open sentimentality from her unsettles him, not really knowing how to handle these declarations, what they mean for him and what he should say back. He fears they’re only going to get deeper, too. He doesn’t understand how she can say all these things but have kept them apart for so long and still is not completely open with him physically.

“Alright, I think I’ve rested enough, but you better get faster at drawing,” he nudges her. They get back in there and he’s in position but her phone keeps going off and making her laugh a little.

“What is it? Can’t you focus?” he grits out at her, agitated now.

She looks at him startled, then walks toward him, so he just relaxes from his pose.

“Rivers sends me stuff sometimes that’s funny. You should see this video with a cat…”

“You send him things, too?” he asks, feeling upset about this Rivers kid ever since he heard of him. He doesn’t like this boy sniffing around his girl, that’s for sure.

“Sometimes, I send him pictures and stuff. He’s really funny. It sucks that Margaery hates me now because he was supposed to come up with Ruben to our get-together. I think I may have it anyway and see if she gets over this by next weekend.”

“Pictures of you?” he grabs her wrist.

“Sandor, don’t grab me like that,” she pulls, and he loosens his grip with a mental note to be more cautious in the future.

“I have in the past. He’s just my friend,” she whines at him.

“I was _just your friend_ till a few days ago _,_ ” he sneers at her and then demands, “I don’t like you texting with him, and I want you to stop.”

“I can’t control whether he texts me or not, and I don’t understand what’s wrong with me having a friend that happens to be male,” she rebuts, livid. Just then her phone goes off again, making him snatch it out of her hand.

“Rose was my friend yet you seem to not like me talking to her. Would you like it if she texted me as much as Rivers does you?” he tries to make her see his side in this as he reads this latest text. He can’t believe it, and it pisses him off so much to know this parasite has been texting his girl and for her to be giving attention to this asshole. “So this is a friendly text, I wouldn’t even say this to you when we were friends.” Then he reads it to her, “Did that make you smile, San? Can I see? Can’t wait for party.” He doesn’t even know what do with that. Of course, he wants to crush this guy but worse he just feels betrayed by her once he’s finally got his hands on her. _How many poor guys does she have stringing along out there?_

“Are there others?” he asks her, “That you text like this with.”

“Sandor, please don’t get angry. I see what you mean, okay. I’ll stop I promise. I’m sorry. No, of course, there aren’t others.”

“Well, I can’t believe you’re stringing along this piece of shit as it is,” he hates that he’s raising his voice in a nasty snarl to her, but a part of him wants to be worse.

“I guess I’m just a slut, huh?” she cries and that grates on his nerves, how she’s suddenly the victim in all of this. “Just sit so I can finish this and not fail my class please.”

“Sansa,” he pleads with her as he stands up and turns her around to face him, and she reluctantly looks up at him, pouting. “I didn’t mean to yell at you, okay? This is upsetting to me because you agreed not to see anyone else, do you understand that? You’re not a slut. I don’t think that. Still, you should know now that I don’t take kindly to other men flirting with you, and I especially don’t want you flirting with them.”

“Okay, I get it,” she replies with a little sniffle. “Do you want to stay over tonight?” she looks up at him with those big, blue eyes.

“Of course, but I don’t want to get in the way of your schoolwork. Maybe I could run out and get supper from that grocery you like, and you can do what you need to then.”

“Thanks, Sandor,” she starts to tear up now at this and then wraps herself around him, “I’m so sorry, you’re too good to me.” He just pets her hair, confused at what her mood is now.

“Alright, let’s get this over with before I’m tempted to call this Rivers myself.” She looks mortified at his comment because she knows what he’s capable of, and it’s not an idle threat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI reverse charcoal is where you cover the paper with willow charcoal (a soft charcoal) and then use an eraser to draw with essentially. And then you can embellish from there.
> 
> Also, they won't stop making out!


	30. Chapter 30

Leaving her final drawing class, Sansa’s so upset over how Margaery acted in the critique. She’s actually pretty happy with how her portrait of Sandor turned out, and the effect she wanted from the reverse charcoal is exactly her vision. Many people in her class were pretty amazed but also shocked that she drew it from an actual person. _My boyfriend,_ she smiles to herself, glad she at least has some visual representation of him now, even if it’s the old-fashioned way. She was up late trying to perfect it, so Sandor won’t see it until she gets it back from her professor.

First of all, Margaery has been avoiding her, which is no surprise, but then she had the nerve to belittle her piece when she presented it in class for discussion. She didn’t even look at Sansa when she was talking, saying that it was “an obvious choice of composition that does little to intrigue the viewer with regard to the subject’s scars” and could even be “insensitive” and on and on. Sansa tries to brush it off, but it’s just such a disappointment that her friend could be so petty. It had probably set Margaery off that she had chosen Sandor as a subject at all, but it was worth it.

Getting back in her apartment, Sansa texts Sandor that she’ll be over after dinner with Petyr with an added, “XOXO.” He tells her to text him if he can pick her up, since it’s getting dark sooner. _He’s so caring,_ she lets out a little sigh, feeling that spark of excitement in her chest to see him soon. It really has been like a switch has flipped since her and Sandor got together. She used to initiate most things, but now he’s always trying to spend time with her, like him texting her earlier today asking when he can see her. It’s just really bad timing with her final projects and tests and then leaving after next weekend.

She jumps into the shower as she continues to muse over their first week together. His presence now is so overwhelming that she seems to lose focus, can barely keep a handle on time, and often forgets whatever she had wanted to talk to him about before she sees him. It is exquisite though, feeling him all over her and kissing every inch, _well almost every inch though he seems keen to explore further_. It makes her nervous, not knowing what his limits are. He hasn’t been too insistent so far, but she worries that he will get bored with where they are soon. And then he persists in only sleeping in his boxer briefs, which does nothing to decrease her anxiety, but he is so beautiful without his clothes on. All thoughts escape her when he sheds his clothes to crawl under the sheets with her. He barely notices her momentary lapse as he’s always so focused on capturing her in another kiss.

Picturing how masculine those long, perfectly muscled legs of his are and how he feels right next to her, even the hard presence of him that’s beginning to feel normal, her fingers trail down to her place. She leans back against the shower wall, letting the warm water fall over her as she continues to please herself at the thought of this huge man that’s all hers. Feeling her release makes her hum with contentment all through her body, but as she washes the conditioner out of her hair, she feels a bit of shame for using him for that. _Does he do that thinking of her?_ As much as the thought scandalizes her, a part of Sansa hopes he’s that devoted to her.

After she gets dressed and does some quick chores, Petyr arrives at the door. “Petyr,” she smiles big at her uncle and gives him a quick embrace, “I’m so glad we were able to have dinner together before I leave for Sevenmas.”

“As am I, Sansa,” he responds in that closed mouth smile of his, “Though remember I did offer to take you to some of those out-of-town business conferences that have been keeping me away.”

“I know,” she admits.

“You look very beautiful as always, dear,” he reaches for her hand to give her a playful twirl that reminds her of the gala.

“If we have time, I thought we could enjoy a lemon drop as an _ap_ _éritif,_ remember?” she looks hopefully at him.

“Why not after dinner?” he questions her.

“Oh, I have something after dinner,” and she can’t help her heightened smile, thinking of Sandor waiting for her.

“I guess there’s no harm in sharing one now, but you do look very well. I hope you’ve not run into any obstacles in your vow to swear off boys for a year,” he strokes his chin and looks her over in thought, making her nervous suddenly. _If she tells Petyr, she’s telling Mother, and she doesn’t want him to think less of her either, he’s going to be her advisor._ She does see a loophole though – technically she is seeing someone, but no one would call Sandor Clegane a boy.

“Oh, no boys, don’t worry,” she smiles, trying to hide her mischief.

Petyr jokes with her about taking precautions to make sure the champagne bottle is adequately chilled and gives her a tutorial on gently twisting the cork so that it pops without an explosion. Then, she prepares their martinis and proposes a toast to next semester. After taking a sip, Petyr pulls out a little blue box and presents it to her, “Your Sevenmas gift, Sansa.”

She gasps, surprised, as she knows this is an expensive jeweler and also one of her favorites. Unable to withhold a little squeal of excitement, she rushes to make up for her lack of present, “Oh no, I don’t have a gift for you! I’ll have to bring something back from Winterfell.”

“Don’t worry about that, just open it,” his grin widens, evidently enjoying her enthusiasm.

Opening it up, she sees one of their classic heart necklaces. “I’ve always wanted one of these. I only have the toggle bracelet,” she smiles up at her uncle.

“I’m glad, it’s not an easy feat to pick something out for a woman who was nearly a princess,” he picks up the necklace and unclasps it, “May I?”

“Of course,” she acquiesces, and Petyr gently lifts her hair away from her neck to surround it with the necklace. She must imagine the slight stroke through the strands of hair down her back. It feels weird to have someone touch her that’s not Sandor.

“You shouldn’t have really! Thank you so much, uncle, I mean, Petyr, sorry,” she tries to laugh off her mistake, but the damage is done evidenced by the momentary disappointment across his features.

“You’re a very special young woman, let’s go,” he looks down at his watch, and she turns to gather her purse and jacket to head out to the restaurant.

 

* * *

 

Getting back to her flat from dinner that seemed to drag on, she texts Sandor to pick her up while she packs some pajamas and an outfit for tomorrow. They’re planning to maybe go on a run out by the bay and work with Tess some more since he’s been fairly busy with training Crow now.

As she comes down, he throws the door open for her, and she climbs into his truck with Lady. He shifts it into gear to head the short distance to his place. She didn’t bother changing out of her dress and could burst from happiness when Sandor reaches over for her hand to bring it to his lips and mentions, “You look nice,” with his eyes barely staying on the road. She suddenly doesn’t feel close enough and pushes up on the console to slide next to him. Sandor seems pleased as he wraps his arm around her waist and quickly kisses the side of her head.

“What’s all this XOXO in these texts?” he sounds puzzled, glancing down at her.

“Oh,” she giggles, “it’s short for hugs and kisses, you silly ignorant man.” She knocks knees against him, unbelieving at how little he seems to know of some things. He was obviously starved for affection by the way he acts around her, at least he’s responsive and not the opposite, she thinks.

“Do you like my necklace? Petyr gave it to me for Sevenmas,” she mentions. He snaps over to look at her, somewhat severely, before relaxing a bit.

“Your uncle, right? Seems nice, you like stuff like that?” he responds.

“Yeah, my uncle. I guess I’m a sucker for jewelry like most girls,” she sighs, thinking of what Sandor could get her for Sevenmas. She wouldn’t expect anything this nice – they’ve only been together a short while and she’s not sure of his financial situation. Can’t believe he just straight up asked her what she wanted, too…what will she get him?

Back at his place, Sandor makes her tea as usual as she pets Tess on her lap, and Lady and Stranger are content to lay next to each other, _the man seems to settle into routines fast._ Handing her the tea and settling right next to her, he takes up his attentions towards her, making drinking tea difficult and superfluous even. Deciding she wants to at least talk to him a bit and enjoy her tea, she slides away a bit, resting her legs in his lap for him to play with despite the danger of tickling.

“So are you ever going to explain to me what you found so amusing about my bush tea that day? Especially since it stuck in your mind enough to keep it in your house for me.” She questions him.

He grins at her from where he is on her thigh, making her jump a little as he brushes the back of her knee. “I still have to explain that to you. Don’t you know google exists?”

“Sandor,” she chides him playfully.

“You know you shouldn’t say my name to try and scold me,” he starts to climb on top of her, making some tea spill on her dress.

“Sandor!” she can’t help but try to reprove him further despite how much she relishes his attention.

“I told you that wouldn’t help,” he smirks, placing her tea on the coffee table before grabbing her waist and pulling her under him roughly. He starts his assault on her lips for several minutes, then pulling back for a breath to state, “Sorry about the tea, let’s get you out of this dress so you can wash it.” As if she can’t see right through his concern for the stain on her dress that must be washed immediately.

“Okay,” she presses a few more kisses around his mouth and can feel him searching for her zipper, “but I’m putting my pajamas on.” She slips out from under him to grab her tote and head to the laundry as she hears him sigh behind her.

After putting her dress in to wash, Sansa feels a bit shaky like her adrenaline is pumping as she undoes her bra and puts on the thin camisole and cute pajama shorts she usually wears to sleep in. She’s mostly been sleeping in more of her clothes, too nervous what wearing less would mean to Sandor, especially when he’s nearly naked next to her.

Coming back to the living room, she stands, not entering the room, and tucks some hair behind her ear before suggesting nonchalantly, “Did you want to watch a movie or play your game or something?” Her feet turning in on themselves is probably giving away her pounding heart as she feels his gaze taking her in, knowing her nipples are showing through the thin material, still she doesn’t move to cover herself.

He comes toward her, and she resists stepping back as his towering presence draws near and her head tilts back to keep her eyes on his. Caressing the side of her arm lightly, he rasps in that deep, gravelly voice that is enough to make her swoon itself, “I like this,” before his other hand extends into her hair and he leans down to kiss her deeply. Though feeling herself fall into that beautiful puddle of warmth from his passion, her heart quickens as his hand moves from her arm to lightly mold around her breast, brushing against her nipple and sending shockwaves through her. As he deepens his touch into a massage, she finds herself falling ever so faster into that puddle of warmth as her hands find his shoulders for purchase, and she can’t stop the moan that pulls from her core.

He releases her to wrap his arms around her and pull her to his chest, and she feels almost limp in his hold and embarrassed by the heaving of her chest against him, as she tries to breathe squeezed against him and he finds her neck with his mouth. Speechless as he has rendered her, she can only listen when he speaks into her ear, “I think it’s getting a little late for that, little bird,” answering her original question. Then, he’s draping her legs over his arm and holding her close as he takes her upstairs to his room.

After laying her down, he stands to shuck off his clothes into his “pajamas,” looking her over with a strange sort of serious mission focus to him. He turns off the main light in favor of his side lamp before coming to her side, and her eyes trail after him, enjoying seeing him from every angle. Though he has his own ideas, she takes advantage of the momentary lull to sit up, telling him, “Stay still,” and performs her own study of his legs, the ones she had conjured earlier, trailing her hands over them, marveling at how small she seems next to him, and how much she loves that feeling. _There’s just so much of him, and he’s like a study in muscle._ “This is where your injury was?” she looks up at him after seeing the scarring there.

“Yeah,” he answers, but he just looks confused at what she’s doing, as if he hasn’t tried to memorize every part of her he can access over the last week. As she nears his feet, she founds them ever so ticklish at the slight touch, pulling away from her, even kicking dangerously, considering their size. He grabs one of her own feet and hauls her back towards him, making her yelp and squirm with his relentless tickling. “That’s not fair,” she cries out, giggling involuntarily. “I barely touched you,” turning around to secure his hands, which he seems to let her do as he watches her under his heavy brow, making her feel like prey he’s just playing with for the moment.

“You’re very impressive, really, I feel lucky,” she looks down at his arms to trace the veins there, hearing him snort at her statement. She goes on, “I hope you like the drawing when I show it to you, my professor and class were impressed.”

“What about your Margaery friend?” he asks, and she can tell he’s deflecting.

“She was not very nice, but hopefully she’ll get over it soon. We have a class together next semester after all.” She places her hands on his chest, resting her chin thereon to look up at him as his fingers run through her hair, soothingly.

“You never told me any of those things she said about me?” he perks his head up to level at her to show he means it. On one hand, she hates how intimidating he can turn, but the intensity also mesmerizes her. That night Margaery stormed out of her apartment comes back to her – hard to believe it was a catalyst for their relationship now. Everything she said was so awful, it makes her instinctually pull away from him and sit up on the bed, feeling grave as she tries to avoid his gaze.

“They were almost all so awful, I can’t even voice most of it and I don’t know how you’ll react.”

“Sansa,” he sits up and reaches out and for once she wishes he didn’t have to always touch her. “I can imagine some of it, but you already know so I won’t be mad at you, just mad at her if I’m going to be upset. Start with one thing,” he urges her.

She stares up into his eyes, feeling somewhat hopeless as tears threaten, like the façade of happiness he pulls over her life with his touch has been lifted. “I can’t,” she whimpers, _lose you again,_ she wants to add.

She can see a flicker of anger in his eyes at her refusal, but he seems to think better of it, grabbing her hand and softly rasping, “Little bird,” like he’s trying to will her to trust him. He kisses her hand but then seems to get distracted by her body, seizing her waist to pull her toward him, muttering, “little bird” again as his nose nuzzles the hem of her shirt up for him to kiss up her belly.

“Oh, I can see you’re really concerned,” she bites back a little hurt at how easily distracted he is.

He exhales hard against her belly and stops his actions, then shifts up to rest his head between her breasts while he looks up at her, “I told you to tell me, you refuse, what do you want me to say?”

“I just don’t want to be treated like an object,” she whines, not knowing what she wants from him.

He sighs, getting off her and the bed, and leaves the room while muttering a few choice words to himself, and then she hears the shower turn on across the hall. She crawls into a ball, not even crying, just feeling sad and empty and confused at what she’s feeling and how he’s acting.

She’s not sure how long he’s gone because she doesn’t move, almost wishing to disappear or even find his knife to cut herself before he returns. Once he finally comes back, she can hear him open some drawers to ostensibly change before lowering himself on the bed, her back still to him. It’s so silent, like she’s not even there and that makes her start to cry silently.

He sighs resigned, then roughly asks her, “What is so wrong? I know you’re there, being quiet as a mouse.”

She whimpers, “I don’t know.”

“Can you at least turn over? Let me know if you want to leave, but I’d rather you stay,” and part of her is glad he’s at least being patient with her and not forcing her to do anything. She turns over and he lifts his arm, so she scoots over into the crook of it. He seems lethargic almost, drained of his previous energy.

“I don’t like you having your back to me or you keeping this from me. Just take it one thing at a time. Tell me what’s so hard about that. I promise it won’t be like before,” he seems desperate for her to explain herself.

She inhales deep and holds onto him though he feels damp from the shower and takes courage in the darkness that now blankets the room after he turned the lamp off upon returning. “One of the things was that you had declined the knighthood for saving Joffrey’s uncle, Ser Jaime Lannister, and the whole unit.”

“True, still know him and his wife, they helped me in King’s Landing with Joffrey, but you don’t know that,” he shifts to his side to face her and gives her a simple kiss.

“Seems odd that they would help,” she admits.

“They owed me a favor. Him and Brienne know you as well,” he softly pets her hair as he responds.

“Brienne, yes, I think I may have met them. She’s very tall.”

“Yeah, odd couple, I remember when I met your father, he mentioned Robert wanted to see you, I’m assuming that’s his royal majesty?” Sandor adds a bit of sarcasm.

“Yes,” she responds, wary.

"They mentioned to me how Robert was very upset that things didn’t work out between you and Joffrey last Sevenmas, threatening crazy shit.” _Gods, how much did they talk about me?_

“Yes, um, you can see why there was a lot of pressure for me to get back together with him,” she feels a little shaky at this discussion. “Still is,” she mock smiles because she hates how it still weighs on her. Feeling safer to talk to him, she continues, “He is demanding from my father some kind of explanation other than what I have already told them because it was just generic, things weren’t working out, ya know. Joffrey has blamed it all on me, you see. And we had been pushed together since I was like fourteen, but I only saw him on occasion and thought I was in love with him, so I moved to King’s Landing to go to college with him. Then, I had to end things with him by the end of the semester.” She starts crying, remembering all those wasted years on Joffrey; she might as well have had a make-believe boyfriend because he wasn’t real, only real in the nightmare sense of it. Now she’s ill equipped to be with a grown man.

“Don’t cry,” he rubs the tears from her cheeks. “See that wasn’t hard.”

“That was the easiest one,” she argues, releasing a little laugh between sniffles. “But why did you decline the knighthood?” she asks even though the question answers itself when you take into consideration what she knows of Sandor Clegane, not really one for the spotlight and honors.

“Why do you think? Not really my thing,” he tells her and his gray eyes smile for him, they seem so open and almost happy looking at her in the dim room now that her eyes have adjusted. “I also didn’t know I was going to meet a lady.” He moves to kiss her, and she slips her arms up around his neck and meets his lips with her own, feeling much, much better.

“So are you going to tell me about the redbush now?” she pries.

He chuckles, pulling her close and kissing over to her ear to whisper, “A ginger’s pussy.” She stills against him at his vulgarity and the personal implications of the term. He then points out, “See why I didn’t tell you?” Though she’s shocked and nervous about the boundaries of their intimacy, she doesn’t feel an immediate fear. Sandor seems to try to soothe her as he continues to give her attention though without his erratic need he had before until they drift into a comfortable slumber together.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV

Melisandre was eyeing Sansa strangely, “So you burned yourself, you’re telling me? And why was this?” _Maybe she shouldn’t have admitted to it._

“Um, I was upset, and it seemed to feel good after the initial pain,” she tries to explain.

Melisandre sighs, “Fire is a purifying energy, but also has the power to destroy. You must tread carefully, Sansa. Pain releases endorphins in our body to cope with the unpleasantness of being hurt and thus can feel good. Still, I’d like you to find better ways to cope, like the journaling and the meditation.”

She tries to explain, “I was doing that already, though not sure I’m getting the hang of meditating,” she looks down at her hands.

“Maybe we should find some medication for you.”

“No,” she pleads, “I’m already smoking pot. My sister said it would help me chill out.”

“Okay,” Melisandre seems to try and compose herself, “Are you drinking?”

“Not like a lot, at least not often,” she responds, hoping that doesn’t tick any more boxes.

“You appear to be developing unhealthy practices. Is it that you are feeling unsafe from the attack?” Melisandre looks like she's trying to figure her out but also not be too harsh.

“No, I was just upset about Sandor after we had that fight, but we are back together now. And we’re really together now, so there aren’t any more problems.” Sansa tries to reassure her therapist.

“So you’re dating him?” her eyebrows raise.

“Well, yes, but we’ve decided to be in a relationship since we already know each other well. He was really upset about me hurting myself and keeps making sure I don’t do it again,” She can’t help but start smiling big, feeling the joy of the last almost two weeks wash over her.

“Well, I hope it continues to work out, but I want you to call me if something happens again and you think about hurting yourself.” Melisandre looks so concerned; it makes her feel better.

“Okay,” Sansa smiles.

“How old is he by the way?” Melisandre narrows her gaze at her.

“Um, 31,” she answers, feeling nervous where this could be going. “He was in the military for awhile, till last year I believe, though he’s still in the Reserves unit.”

“Okay, I’m sure you know that’s quite a difference in age. Do you have any concerns so far?” Melisandre asks her.

“Um, I worry I can’t talk to him about some things without upsetting him,” she admits.

“What does he do when you say something that upsets him?” Melisandre prods.

Sansa starts rambling, not really making sense as she pieces things together, “I only really did that once, but I know now that he hates his scars and he’s never told me about them. Also, I know nothing about his family and little of his past, except what Margaery told me about his brother. He got upset and yelled at me and told me to get out, but he was upset because he thought I was using him and stuff. He gets frustrated when I don’t tell him what’s wrong and has been trying to get me to tell him what Margaery said to me.”

“You’ve got a mess there,” Melisandre smiles at her, and it makes her feel like a silly teenager. “I think you should tell him stuff slowly, not try to overwhelm him, especially if he is trying to communicate with you, that is a good sign.”

“Okay,” she feels a bit of relief.

“What are these scars he has? Real scars?” Melisandre questions.

“Oh, he has burn scars on the right half of his face. He acts like they don’t matter to him, but after our argument, I realize how sore a subject they are.”

“Half his face is burned? That must be severe. I’m impressed you can see past them. Still, he’ll probably always feel insecure about them,” Melisandre responds with a tight-lipped smile. _That last bit seems kind of harsh of her,_ Sansa thinks. “Is this why you resorted to burning yourself?” her therapist asks, and Sansa hadn’t really even thought about it from that angle.

“Maybe,” she answers with a puzzled look on her face, “I knew he would be really affected by it if he did see them.”

“Have you thought about hurting yourself again, just to make him notice?” Melisandre probes further.

Her heart starts beating harder at this realization, and she doesn’t want to admit it though her pause says enough. “I have,” she admits, ashamed that she could be doing this to make him care more. _Of course, she would be so vain and stupid_.

“If you let this continue, it can evolve into you playing the victim in your relationship and holding it over him that you’ll hurt yourself if he doesn’t do what you want him to.” Melisandre pushes further and this is too much, she’d rather talk about Joffrey than this.

“Okay,” she huffs, exasperated, and winds her hair around her fingers like she’s bored, thinking about everything she needs to get ready for tonight.

“Well, I will see you after break hopefully, and here are some sheets I want you to fill out on self-talk while you’re gone. Really focus on this, Sansa.” Melisandre tries to get her attention back.

“Thank you,” Sansa returns graciously, “and I hope you have a wonderful Sevenmas.”

“Oh, I don’t celebrate, “ Melisandre gives her one of those annoying, condescending smiles, “but I hope you enjoy the holiday.”

 

* * *

 

Sansa takes a deep breath as she reenters her apartment and starts to get everything ready before Sandor comes over and they head over to the nearby café to meet her friends. He’s there right after her, and she opens the door to see his typical scowl in place, which lifts slightly when he looks down at her. He’s been so keyed up since this morning when she reminded him about coming with her to hang out with her friends, and that Rivers is going to be there.

Meeting up at the nicer café on campus, Mya is there already with Mychel, and shrugs, “Randa sends her regrets, and I think Margaery is busy or something.” She was hoping Margaery would be over this by now but evidently not. Randa not showing doesn’t surprise her because of Margaery not coming and Sandor being here. 

Rivers and Ruben show up shortly after, and it’s a bit awkward without Margaery there. Still, Rivers comes over to their table with a big smile, “San! How’s it going, girl?” and gives her a big hug like he had Margaery after they met. She can almost feel the tension radiating from Sandor at this but just lets it go and then greets Ruben.

“Mya, right? Yeah that was crazy, getting San and Marg out of there a few weeks ago. There will always be flour somewhere in that house now,” Rivers easily slips into dialog with Mya and Mychel, and she’s glad they already know each other.

“Sorry Margaery isn’t here,” she tries to make amends, but Rivers just shrugs, “Oh, we stopped by and saw her, we might go over there later, she’s having a little party.”

“What?!” Sansa can’t believe this and turns to Mya who looks suddenly sheepish.

“I didn’t want to upset you, Sansa, but she is kind of throwing together an informal end of the year thing,” Mya admits.

“Whatever,” Sansa rolls her eyes and introduces Sandor to Rivers and Ruben, trying not to watch as Sandor takes each one’s hands with a solid stare like he’s trying to threaten their eyeballs.

Sitting at the table, she finds it hard to believe she goes to an all-girls college, and there’s only one girl here. Sandor sets his arm around her and pulls her close to him, similar to how they had been seated on their date, but it feels a bit strange around other people. She wishes not for the first time that he had some sense of propriety.

After they order and everything, Sandor gets up to go to the bathroom after kissing her in front of everyone, making her blush.

Mya smiles at her, but Rivers and Ruben look skeptical. Rivers levels at her, “Are you okay, San?” Then leans over the table to whisper to her, “Have you tried to hurt yourself again?” His concern is sweet, but she knows Sandor doesn’t want her close with him.

She shakes her head no, “I’m very well actually,” and smiles as she sees Sandor walking back over to them. The food is pretty good, and she probably downs a bit too much wine mulling over Margaery. Still, it’s kind of awkward knowing they’ll probably all go to Margaery’s after except her and Sandor.

Heading towards the exit, Rivers taps her on the shoulder, and she holds up her hand to Sandor to give her a minute. He tells her, “Sansa, why are with him after everything? He’s kind of rough and possessive with you, just as a first impression.”

“He can be different, but I care for him and he cares for me a lot.” She tries to reassure him.

“Just let me know if you need anything,” he brushes her arm, making her flinch slightly. “I’m sad he doesn’t want you to be my friend anymore.” And that upsets her, too. _Rivers doesn’t mean any harm!_

Walking out of the café, Sandor immediately walks toward her to grab her hand and pull her close, placing himself between her and Rivers. It strikes her that he’d been waiting for her to come out, and she hates feeling like she’s part of some territorial dispute. She glances over to see Sandor hold his other hand out to stop Rivers but can’t hear whatever he says to him silently through gritted teeth.

“Dude, chill,” Rivers holds his hands up, his eyes wide at Sandor’s actions.

“Baby, it’s okay. Sandor, please stop. We’re going home now, okay?” she coos to him. He seems to relent, letting him pass but still scowling. She says bye to her friends, giving Mya one of the presents she got for the girls and handing her Randa’s. An idea strikes her to mail Margaery hers with a nice letter as her last attempt to make amends.

On their way back, she digs into Sandor, “Why did you have to make a scene? He’s just trying to be a friend to me.”

“I didn’t make a scene. Why did he have to be alone with you?” Sandor snarls, agitated.

She sighs in frustration, crossing her arm over to hold onto his arm that he’s using to hold her hand as they walk back. “He just wants me to know he’s there for me and worried about me, like a friend would.”

Sandor speaks up, sounding adamant, “You think I like you having some guy in line to run into his arms if you decide things aren’t working out?” She takes an intake of breath, thinking about how he sees things. She didn’t even realize it might be like that to him.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I didn’t see it that way.” She rubs her hand over his forearm, enjoying how much of him there is.  

“Alright,” he pulls her against him, leading their way back to her place, “Let’s go by my place after, I’ve thought about getting you a new bed for Sevenmas since yours sucks.”

“That’s ridiculous! Buying me a mattress?” Sansa giggles. “Are you serious? If it’s so bad, you don’t have to stay over.”

“But what about during the week when you have class?” he responds quickly.

“Let’s not worry about it now,” she nudges him, “We’ll figure it out next semester. You don’t have to buy me a bed.”

He sighs next to her, “But now I don’t know what to get you, and you haven’t told me what you want.”

She smiles up at him as they climb up the stairs to her apartment. She feels Sandor’s hands go around her waist behind her as they enter, and he leans down to nuzzle into her hair and find her neck.

“Sorry there was the rush earlier, but I want you to see the drawing I got back today. I got 100 percent!” Sansa turns around in his arms to lift up and kiss him. He pulls her close and one of his hands goes up into her hair to gather it in a fist, tangling it. She smiles into their kiss, making him pull away and look at her with a question, she laughs, “I don’t think my hair will ever stay untangled long. But seriously, the drawing,” she redirects him.

He lets her go, and she walks over to her portfolio bag that she hates having to carry around and pulls out the finished piece. She’s so proud of it, and it captures his energy to her so well. Hopefully, Sandor will be cool with her hanging it in her bedroom. She wasn’t planning on giving it to him!

Setting it on her little table, Sandor walks over and peers down at it for a moment. Watching him, she notices it seems hard for him to look at it, like he is putting distance between the image and himself, won’t acknowledge it’s him.

“Don’t feel like you have to say anything,” she tells him and hugs his side, knowing coming face to face with how she drew him must be uncomfortable. _Gods, she even feels a little nervous for him to look at it._

He kisses her forehead and turns away from the table, “You got your clothes?”

“Yeah, just a sec,” she rushes to grab some clothes. _When is she going to find time to pack for going home? It’s going to be hard to leave._

Getting back to his place, she looks him in the eye as she warms up the kettle on the stove, beating him to it this time, and tries to project as much sincerity as she can. “Sandor, it means a lot to me that you let me draw you, but a great present would be letting me take a photo of you, especially since I’m leaving in a few days.”

“Don’t remind me,” he draws near and places his hands on her hips. “If that’s what you want, you can have it, just don’t expect me to smile.”

“Really!” she smiles up at him and runs to get her phone.

“Now?” he responds, astonished.

“Why not? Are you planning to wear makeup?” she giggles at him, and sets up her camera. “Okay, think about it like a needle, one quick injection and it’s done. Painless.” He begins to scowl at her at that, and she can’t have that.

“Can you at least smirk a bit for me? Think about my bush tea and how much you like it,” she urges, and he betrays himself with a little smirk curling and that bit of light in his deep gray eyes. She smiles to herself, proud that she captured it – _maybe I should’ve taken photography? Cameras can get complicated fast though._

“You going to let me have a taste?” he moves to wrap his arms around her again as she peers down at the photo of him. He nuzzles her hair away from her neck to softly bite down it to her collarbone, and her breath catches as he hand moves to squeeze her breast. She hears him hum contentedly while his other hand runs down her belly, his thumb going into the waistband of her jeans.

“Sandor, you know I’m just not comfortable with that yet, can we talk about it after break?” she had already made up her mind to put that off till after break.

“I’m just teasing you, little bird, since you do it to me,” he grumbles light-heartedly.

“I tease you?” she scoffs.

“Yes, by being so perfect in every way,” he turns her around, lifts her up on the kitchen counter to kiss her. _Aww_ , she can’t help but feel giddy as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. He’s not that profuse in his compliments, so she soaks it in when it happens. As much as she’s focused on his attentions, her mind can’t help but wander to the affront from Margaery.

She pulls away from their kiss, looking at Sandor, “Can you believe that about Margaery? Having a party when I invited her to dinner and then not even invite me. Like I’m dead to her.”

“That’s all you can think about?” he scowls at her. She just grabs her tea and nudges him with her knee with a little smile at his grumpiness.

“Sorry, I’m just upset about it,” she replies.

Sandor kisses her forehead and goes to rummage in the refrigerator for food. He didn’t seem that impressed by the café’s offerings. She hates how whenever he does pull away, even if it’s not intentional, she feels a little sliver of longing, like she’s empty for a moment. It sucks, almost counteracts the loveliness of having him close. It reminds her of that time she had accidently told him she loved him on the Isle of Faces and then he had been so distant. Couldn’t imagine how he’d react now.

Feeling a little insecure and since there’s been no talk of what she’ll get him for Sevenmas, she slips off the counter and tries to collect herself. “Is there a particular gift you would like for Sevenmas? Do you want me to do something for you that you want?” The fear of being away from him so soon and what that could mean for the relationship hits her now that the semester is all wrapped up and she can focus solely on him. Now she’s so worried that she’s not pleasing him. What if he realizes he’s bored with her after she leaves for a few weeks? What if he sees Rose while she’s gone?

He’s pulled out some of her Greek yogurt she keeps stocked here now, though that’s proven hard as Sandor’s developed a taste for it. He looks a little funny with the little spoon in his hand and the tiny yogurt cup in the other as he looks at her with a wary expression before moving on to his second yogurt.

He gives her that look to say continue, so she looks down at her hands on the counter as she sways slightly. “I just mean if you’d like me to do something for you down there as your Sevenmas gift before I leave.”

His jaw appears to hang down for a second, and she thinks that’s probably a _yes._ “But you just said you weren’t comfortable a minute ago?”

“But that was just like with me, ya know.” She’s done it before...

“Hold on, did you just offer me a blow job as a present? Or am I misunderstanding something again?” Sandor questions.

“Yeah, I mean, I know it’s normal,” she tries to shrug, drawing a circle on the counter top to keep her hands busy.

“Are you going to let me reciprocate?” he eyes her like she’s a booby-trapped obstacle course.

_What? Why is that part of this?_ “That’s just supposed to be the gift.” She shakes her head to try and understand. “I don’t get it. Just forget it, okay? I’ll figure something out.”

She must look peeved because he comes over to her with an amused smile and rubs her arms, saying, “Little bird, sometimes I think one of us is from a completely different world, and I’ll never get it. You don’t have to give me anything for Sevenmas. I don’t care.” _Great,_ she can’t help but think bitterly, _my Sevenmas present is to have a photo of my boyfriend, something that should be normal, and then when I try to be normal, he doesn’t understand me, and I don’t know what he wants for Sevenmas._

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: Leaving for Winterfell

Driving home to Winterfell for break, Sansa keeps wiping tears from her eyes, especially since every song she hears makes something else about Sandor come to mind. _How is she going to make it without him for over two weeks?_ She sniffles, feeling like a hormone-riddled mess. Even Lady next to her is all gloomy, whimpering with her at intervals and trying to awkwardly put her head in Sansa’s lap.

Despite the traffic, Sansa pulls up the screen of her phone to look at him again, and it’s really just his eyes she wants to stare into so desperately. _Well, she misses his lips already, too,_ she smiles to herself and sighs in contentment. She hears a car horn behind her and realizes she’s dropped her speed and is edging off the road slightly. _Hells, Sansa, get it together, girl!_

They had spent the weekend holed up in his house, watching a new show, mostly on her laptop in bed, mostly making out and cuddling the whole time, and also working with Tess some. Sandor had let Crow out and showed her some of what he’d been working with him on, though he’s still not friendly, even compared to Stranger. It had been glorious though, and he had been so attentive towards her, though tentative a bit after that awkward conversation they had last Thursday. _Gods, why did she offer to get him off?_ He had been so confused with her, but she didn’t know why he was so interested in pleasing her, no one’s ever done that to her before really. She’d be okay with that but was just not sure how it would go.

With these thoughts in mind, she pulls in to fill up and decides to snag one of those magazines that Margaery and the girls favor in the convenience store. Maybe she’ll do some Internet searching at home, too. Yes, she should take this time to study up on what she should be doing in her relationship.

Back on the road, Sansa decides to give Sandor a call to let him know it’ll just be another hour or so before she’s at Winterfell. He couldn’t believe she’s driving the whole way there on her own, but she’s got Lady at least.

“Hey,” he answers, wringing her heart with how much she wishes he were close. He didn’t want to let her leave this morning, and it had been hard to pack last minute with him hovering almost but she was glad he was there. She didn’t even do the Sevenmas shopping she had thought about doing over the weekend.

“I’m almost to Winterfell, but I miss you already,” she tells him.

“You too, little bird,” she hears him say, “That first CSA delivery got here today, looks good. Going to grill some tonight.” She had decided to gift him with a meat community supported agriculture (CSA) membership for the next six months to see how he liked it, where he’ll get deliveries from a local farm with bacon and what not every month. Sansa was kind of surprised he hadn’t got her an actual gift, but she’s just happy to have a picture of him at least.

“That’s awesome. I hope you really enjoy it and consider staying a member after six months,” she responds with enthusiasm.

“I know, still trying to train me, huh?” he rasps with that edge of danger he has to his voice often, and it thrills her as much as it concerns her.

“No, I told you that I just want you to be more conscious is all. What are you planning to do while I’m at Winterfell?” she asks him.

“Uh, think about you and how you should still be right here in my bed," he tells her off-hand in that deep voice of his.

“Sandor, for real?” she knocks her knees together despite her incredulous tone. It always makes her feel so giddy when he talks to her like that.

“Will probably take the dogs out to the Isle and work on getting them in shape, me too, I haven’t run in awhile,” he seems to be piecing together his plan on the phone.

“That’s a good idea,” she’s relieved to think of him at the isle with Elder Brother rather than possibly drinking or seeing Rose again.

“You’ll send me pictures, right, like when I’d be at the isle before?” he sounds hopeful.

“Of course, a picture for a picture,” she remarks coyly.

“You may get more than you bargained on, girly,” he barks a laugh, making her realize he’s probably talking about those dick pics guys send. She's been getting better at picking up on his more crude sense of humor.

“You know what I mean,” she asserts to him.

“I know, don’t want to scare you, then you wouldn’t come back,” he laughs a bit more, turning sour. Still, it seems revealing that he thinks there’s a chance she wouldn’t be returning.

“Of course, I’m coming back," she plies him. "I already have my whole semester planned, and I’m taking one of my uncle’s classes, too.”

After he doesn’t respond, she confesses, “I feel bad I didn’t get a chance to get everyone presents yet.” 

“It’s not a big deal. People don’t really need gifts,” he seems disinterested in her subject of conversation.

She points out immediately, “Well, it is to me. You’re probably not giving anyone anything for Sevenmas, even your dogs.”

“What do my dogs have to do with Sevenmas?” he huffs a laugh, sounding amused at her, which has a way of getting under her skin.

Sansa explains, “I always get Lady a new toy or collar and a treat. She loves it. I meant to get something for your dogs, but I haven’t had the chance.”

“Nobody expects me to get them a gift, trust me, even the dogs,” he brushes off her concern.

“What about me?” she can’t help but mention, her frustration getting the best of her. She still feels a little hurt that he didn’t get her an actual gift.

“What? I let you have that photo you wanted, and you wouldn’t let me get you a bed.” _Why did she even bother to bring this up?! He just doesn’t get it._

“Let’s just drop it,” she tries to sweep it away.

“Not when you bring it up right after you leave,” he responds, seething a bit with frustration himself it seems.

“I just thought you might have thought about something to give me as a gift on your own without having to check with me, something you thought I might have needed.”

“So instead of asking you, I should’ve just showed up with a new bed for you and you would’ve been happy. Like how I _need_ this meat delivery thing,” he expounds, getting riled up. _Bringing this up was a really, really bad idea_ , she realizes.

“You just don’t get it, and it’s okay. I’m not upset,” she tries to smooth it out in a calm manner.

“Okay, I will try to get you something while you’re gone, but it will probably be wrong, too,” he remarks, defeated but still defensive in his tone.

“Seriously don’t worry about it, I’m sorry I brought it up. I really hope you have a good Sevenmas with Elder Brother even though I wish you could be here,” she pouts though he can’t see her sad expression.

He sighs, trying to let it go evidently, “Probably for the best. I don’t think your dad would be too keen about having me chase you around your castle up there.”

She can’t help but giggle at that image, one of them slipping out at night to find the other’s room, Sandor pulling her into his lap and kissing her as they open presents. She really wishes he could be with her though it would be a lot to deal with considering her parents.

“Alright, bye baby, miss you!” she strains to send him all her feelings through those simple words.

“Text me when you get in, talk later,” he responds, making her wish he showed more emotion at times as the call closes, and she looks down at his picture again on her phone, that endearing smirk of his and his dark gray eyes that say so much when he looks at her.

A layer of fresh snow covers Wintertown as she drives through on her way to the estate, and it gets her in the mood for Sevenmas with the nostalgia of always hoping for snow as a kid. It will be fun to be all cozy by the fireplace with Lady and her family, drinking hot chocolate and opening presents. Lady peers out the window, and she can see a stir of excitement in her husky at all the white fluff and has to duck to miss her tail.

Pulling through the iron gates of Winterfell seems strange after the simple life she has been living in Maidenpool with her little apartment and Sandor’s small house. It serves as a sudden reminder of who she is and more gravely what’s expected of her. Nothing appears to have changed at all, even with a dusting of snow and despite how she feels like a different person, especially different from when she first trotted off to college. She feels stronger though, more resilient and aware of what she wants, especially now that she has Sandor in her life. Not only does he make her feel safe but supported, too, like he’d be there for her no matter what. Now she needs to make sure she can keep him, hence the research she has planned.

Sansa says hello to Jory who helps her out of the car and opens the door for her and Lady to enter. He addresses her, “Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn are in the drawing room awaiting your arrival, Lady Sansa. Your things will be taken to your room." She heads there first, after saying thank you and letting Lady off her leash.

She’s overjoyed to see her mother and embraces her tightly, whispering, “Mom, it’s been too long.” Her dad is petting a nosy Lady.

“Sansa, dear,” her mother pulls back, holding onto her arms and looking her over. “You are so beautiful, staying so thin, too. Maybe I should try vegetarian,” she smiles so warm to her.

“It’s probably just stress from finals,” she shrugs off, “I had almost developed a lemon poppyseed muffin addiction earlier in the semester. There’s a wonderful bakery.” She tries to stop herself short from mentioning Sandor, knowing that Mom already got an earful from Dad during the shroom incident about him.

“Your hair is positively radiant, I miss mine being like this, now I have to color it from all the gray and it’s never like it was,” her mom laments, and she’s happy to see her mother but hates how it all seems on the surface so often even though she knows she really loves her and means best.

She gives her a father a hug, who returns to his laptop, probably watching his stocks and doing various work as usual.

“The boys and Arya?” she asks her mother, sitting down with her.

“Up in their rooms. They’ll be down shortly for dinner. Robb will be home this weekend with Theon and Jon in tow, so it’ll be a full house. He did mention bringing some girl, so we shall see,” her mother smiles at her like they’re confidants.

Her mother continues, “Remember how you mentioned having a formal dinner? Well, I talked your father into throwing a New Year’s dinner for the Northern noble houses. It should be fabulous, that was a wonderful idea of yours. I hope you aren’t planning on swearing off boys forever,” her mother winks at her conspiratorially and Sansa feels her eyes widen at what this formal dinner will mean. She nearly chokes on the Jordan almond she’d been eating, and barely gets out, “How thoughtful.” _Shit, her mother is hoping she meets some eligible young man from their circle!_

“Yes!” Lady Catelyn’s smile widens in joy. “How is your Uncle Petyr? I just got Lysa’s Sevenmas card in the mail, do you wish to see it?” Her mother stands to procure the card, handing it to her. She can’t help but think it an odd picture on the card. Her thin and pallid, wild-eyed aunt takes up the center of the frame in an extravagant, green dress that does nothing for her, having her eight-year old son, Robert, in her lap and Petyr stands behind her with his hand on her shoulder. Robert is growing up to look just like her aunt, she thinks, rather than her first husband. That’s not really a compliment either unfortunately.

“She looks well and little Robyn is growing up,” Sansa remarks to her mother. “Petyr seems well, I’m taking one of his classes next semester and another business class. Did you hear that, Daddy?” She smiles over to her father who grunts with a smile to her. “Also, he gave me this lovely necklace for Sevenmas,” she shows her mother, “which reminds me, I need to do some last minute shopping! I was so tired after finals. Maybe I’ll go with Jeyne, I miss her so much.”

“I do so wish you could’ve come home sooner, dear, but I understand, you must have all your girlfriends there now and wanted to say bye to them all over the weekend?” Her mother perks her eyebrows up in question, wanting to hear all about her daughter’s first semester in Maidenpool.

“Why yes,” Sansa returns a tight-lipped smile, trying to hide her own disappointment that she doesn’t have many girl friends like she’d wished and even seems to have lost the ones she did have. “Well, there’s Mya, a lovely girl and very honest, and Randa, who is spirited. And of course Margaery Tyrell, I’ve told you about.”

“Yes, Lady Margaery,” her mother interjects, “How is she? I am so happy you two are becoming the best of friends.”

“We had a bit of disagreement,” Sansa looks down at her hands, not sure how to handle this. “We’re planning to take a class together next semester though, so I’m hoping we’ll be able to reconcile.”

“These things happen,” her mother strokes her hand through Sansa’s hair soothingly like when she was a child.

Her father puts his computer up, no doubt preparing for dinner to be announced, “Do you need me to call Lord Mace, her father?”

“Of course not, Daddy! I’m going to mail her a present with a note and hopefully things will be better by next semester,” Sansa implores him.

Her father responds, “I hope so, too, sweetheart. You’re not still associating with that Sandor Clegane, are you? I’ve asked Arya to stop playing online with him, too.” _Well, Arya’s not following that demand,_ Sansa huffs to herself, not liking this turn in conversation.

“He’s still my friend, Dad, and despite that unfortunate circumstance where you met him and had a bad impression of him, he really has been a good, supportive friend to me.” She lets out an exhale, hoping she hasn’t revealed too much.

He looks Sansa squarely in the eye, “I think it’s inappropriate for you to even have him as an acquaintance. Perhaps you should consider going back to King’s Landing for school or finding a college in the north. Maybe this Maidenpool experiment of yours is not in your best interests.” She glances over to see her mother’s face, which shows she’s fully in agreement with her father.

_Already getting this!_ Sansa wants to scream at them both. She settles on coolly replying, “I think I will decide what’s in my best interests.” At that, Jory enters to signal dinner is served, and Sansa couldn’t be more relieved. Luckily, she remembers to text Sandor that she made it here, otherwise he might get in his truck and make his way up her to make sure she’s alright. That would not do, she needs to find some way to warm her parents up to the idea of Sandor Clegane, a thing Sandor himself would do poorly.

Sansa hugs Bran and Rickon and also gives her sister a big hug when she drags in late. Arya hugs her back only slightly with a roll of her eyes, but Sansa knows that they both mean a lot to each other now. At least Arya knows her secret, though her sister has already warned her to not talk about Sandor every chance she gets. Her sister is still so prickly about things, but she knows Arya does care.

“So glad you girls are like true sisters now,” her mother pauses to look at them both with an adoring gaze. Her mother has been happily surprised by their closer relationship since Arya went to King’s Landing to help Sansa last year. Sansa knows a lot of it was on her to grow up and be the big sister and accept Arya for who she is. At least Arya respected her wishes not to tell her parents anything either.

After dinner, Sansa talks Arya into watching a movie with her and mom, only by letting her pick. Still, it was worth it to all sit in the movie room and share a big bag of seasonal kettle corn from Wintertown like they get every year and laugh at Arya’s commentary through the film. Mother did shoot her a skeptical look when Arya joked about Sandor calling her Liam Neeson but how she’s really more of a Snowden since she admits he can kick some serious ass. Sansa had shrugged, “He was in special forces,” to her mother before glaring at Arya. How is she going to be here for two weeks and not let this slip? Especially now that they’re throwing essentially a ball for her to find her next prince…  


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV finally :) - sorry about that

Gods, another morning and his first thought is her. Even out here on the isle where he’s just got his bunk. That’s not completely abnormal for him he is loath to admit as he thought of her too often as it was when he was just her friend. Still, it’s not like he woke up expecting her to be there and sense that pang of disappointment, knowing he’s not going to see her red hair spilling over the pillow and her sleepy smile as she greets the day and him.

Having Sansa in his house those few days when neither had any obligation was just right. He’d try to trap her in bed and kiss her senseless as long as possible before messing around the kitchen while Sansa cheerfully made muffins or something, moving with her own rhythm like she has a song in her head to start the day. Waking up with just himself and his own shit life saying hello, not to mention the recurring pain in his leg, was getting old fast. He was usually too distracted by her and his cock to notice the pain.

At least Sansa would usually send him a photo after she’s gotten ready for the day with a little smile, asking him how he is even though she knows he’s just running himself and the dogs, waiting for her to get back, and trying to stay out of trouble. She’ll list off a bunch of shit she’s doing with people he doesn’t know and send a photo of Lady for Stranger. That always makes him laugh like Stranger can see a picture of Lady on his phone. The old dog knows her better by the smell of her butt than any photo he’s sure of that. Couldn’t tell the little bird that though.

Thinking through all of this, he’s prepping Crow and Stranger for a morning run and then do some training basics. Crow is wearing himself out with his endless energy but finally seems to be taking to the discipline. He plans to work with the little sweetheart, Tess, this afternoon, but first he’s going to grab lunch with Elder Brother.

“Brother,” he nods to the old man as he ducks into the little kitchen. The brother eats about like Sansa, so he’s not expecting much more than rabbit food but still it’s better than the canteen.

“Sandor, thanks for coming even though we don’t have our session till next week,” the old man tells him, taking his hand.

“It’s me who should be thanking you. Could use all the help I can get.” He huffs in amusement. The brother just smiles at him with that same brightness to his eyes he often has.

“What’s new?” Elder Brother asks him as they sit down to his table.

Sandor answers, picking up his spoon, “Well, Crow is becoming more manageable, even around Tess, who’s coming along well, if not a bit friendlier than most of my trainees.” He starts to eat, hating how people like to have conversations over food, like that’s ever made sense. Then, you’re not supposed to talk with your mouth full. Idiots.

In between his soup, the brother mentions, “And have you stayed in contact with our red-haired friend?”

Sandor furrows his brows at Elder Brother, confused but then thinks back to when he last saw him. Oh yeah, after his bender and then he had made Sandor call Sansa for a ride back to Maidenpool.

“You could say that,” Sandor can’t help but chuckle, feeling the good side of his mouth lift, enjoying the little Elder Brother knows in this case. “Been on a date with her, and she’s my girl now,” he points out and takes the opportunity to slurp the rest of his soup down, knowing the old man will have some questions.

Sandor looks up to see the Elder Brother looking him over and nodding, “Okay, so Sansa has agreed to be in a relationship with you? Or are you continuing to just date?”

“We are together,” he bites back, maybe too quickly, “and yes, she agreed.” He throws his hands up, feeling a twinge of frustration with the old man over these labels and him thinking he wouldn’t set things straight.

“Just making sure I understand, Sandor,” Elder Brother tries to effuse calm. “So how did this happen? Since last time I saw you, you had thought your friendship was done.”

Sandor tries to think for a minute how to explain, “She came over a few weeks ago, ended up staying over. Her girl friend of hers had kissed her, so she was upset but she had wanted to stay over. I had my arms around her that morning and she kissed me. I wasn’t going to let her pretend to still be friends after that, so to make a long story short, I got her to let me take her on a date and then got together.” All the images of that morning flood through his mind involuntarily, _her big, blue eyes, that pink pout of hers he couldn’t stop kissing, and that forever long red hair. How soft and small she felt tucked next to him. How her arms felt around his neck, right where they should always be._ He itches to pull out his phone and thumb through all his pictures of her.

Though he didn’t notice the pause, Elder Brother does speak up, “Good of you to not let her continue to blur the lines of friendship and relationship. A friend had kissed her? Plus I want to know how you became friends again that she would’ve come to you.”

Sandor sighs over this barrage of questions, but Elder Brother is an asset if he’s going to keep this girl around, though she’s got some problems, _like he doesn’t_. He seems to be able to help Sansa so far, and he can keep her safe. He forgets how young she still is sometimes… _and that she’s a real lady who deserves a lot more than him._

“A girl who I knew maybe liked Sansa, but evidently she came on to her and wanted them to be together but Sansa wasn’t interested in that,” he smirks, remembering that ordeal with Margaery who showed her true colors.

“Interesting,” Elder Brother comments.

The second question’s a little harder, and Sandor finds himself looking at his hands on the table while he speaks, “And after I left with her that day, I was pissed and not really caring about her because she’s so fucking complicated sometimes. But she was hurting herself right in front me, and she had been hurting herself, even burnt herself,” he adds quietly. “And she said it was my fault because of what I did.” His arms on the table tense into fists, not looking at Elder Brother but rather just to the wall, trying to be blank.

“That’s terrible. How did it make you feel?” he can sense all of Elder Brother’s concern directed toward him.

Sandor wants to roll his eyes, but it’s a kind of a relief to be real about it. “I was fucking pissed at myself then, and I couldn’t be angry at her. She’s just so…” like he knows how to explain her. So broken and hurting sometimes, making him feel like she needs him, yet she has this resilience to treat every day like a new start to being happy. She looks at an old building or a willow tree or even just rays of sunshine with enchantment like life is still a dream for her. Living without that for even a week is like having all the lights turned off.

“You can’t fix her, Sandor. You can support her like you have been, but she has her own road to recovery like you’ve had.” Elder Brother tries to point out helpfully, but Sandor can’t help but feel like he doesn’t really get it – how much they help each other maybe. “I’m assuming you were able to reconnect with her then after you discovered her self-harm.”

“Yeah, I checked up on her to make sure she wouldn’t continue doing that. She’s at least seeing that woman now to talk.”

"That’s good. Are you spending Sevenmas with her? Oh, I got you some treats for the dogs.” Elder Brother shuffles around to get the fancy bag of treats for him, _such a Sansa thing to do_ , he shakes his head.

“No, she’s with her family up north. The castle,” he snarks.

“Oh, that reminds me of her father,” Elder Brother gives him a knowing smile, making Sandor snort at the comment. Bout as much of a joke as you’ll get from the old man.

“Yep, she’s planning on keeping it from them evidently,” Sandor admits though not sure he wants to go down this line of discussion.

“Your relationship?” Elder Brother asks and he nods. “Hmm,” the old man ponders, “Well, as you know, honesty is always the best in any situation.”

“That’s true,” Sandor runs his hand through his hair. It feels out of his hands, but he’d rather her parents knew just to get it out there even if they don’t like it. “I need to go work with Tess,” Sandor announces, getting up to leave.

“Okay,” Elder Brother replies, “but I want to talk more about this next week, especially any confusion or problems you’re having so think about it. Have you had anything to drink since I saw you?”

“Alright, alright,” Sandor answers, “Maybe just a beer a few weeks ago, but I wasn’t thinking about it. Haven’t had anything since.”

“Okay, I won’t keep you. Bye Sandor,” the old man gives him a friendly nod and clap on the back.

He pulls his phone out walking over to get Tess, hoping to hear from Sansa and notices her “Happy Sevenmas” message with a picture of her with Arya and another with her and Lady pouting, “I wish you were here. MISS YOU! XOXO.” Not caring what it sounds like he types, “Miss you too,” back to her and sends her a picture of Tess.

Later that night, he calls her as he’s been doing every night since she’s left. “Hey baby!” he hears on the other end as well as fading chatter as she’s walking away from her family. He’d rather she just say his name but hasn’t been able to correct her yet, not wanting to upset her which it most definitely would if he refused any pet names .

“Hey, busy?”

“Just playing a game with the family, going up to my room now,” she explains.

“Are you going to lay down on your princess bed and tell me how much you wish I was there?” he asks suggestively, enjoying pushing her a little bit.

“Yes,” she replies, and he can hear that bit of shyness in her answer that he enjoys. She continues, “But you shouldn’t call it a princess bed, it makes me think you think I’m silly or something.”

“Beautiful is what I think you are, girl,” he tells her, getting worked up just hearing her voice and envisioning her. “Lying in bed in just your panties or even when you climbed on top of me to kiss me like you did that last morning.”

“Oh, Sandor,” he can practically hear her squirm a bit now, “you’re so bad.”

“I thought that’s what you liked about me, and I’ve a reputation to keep up,” he finds himself smirking.

“Did you like that?” she asks him, sounding unsure.

“I like all of it,” he tells her.

“Okay,” she responds, sounding pleased. _Silly little bird doesn’t even know what she does to him._

“So what are you doing now?” he asks her.

She responds with a little laugh, “I told you, silly. I was hanging out with my family, playing charades like every Sevenmas before coming up to my _bed_ to talk to you.” She sounds so cute, so oblivious, _fuck me._

“I bet you’re playing with your hair with those little bird hands of yours,” he guesses.

“I am actually twirling my hair at the moment, but really Sandor, bird’s don’t have hands, plus my fingers are really long. Still, I got these cute little bird pajamas from Arya this morning, I love them and have been wearing them all day!” She sounds giddy about the clothes now.

“Are they those little shorts you wear?” he asks.

“They’re actually like thin flannel pajama pants and sleep shirt, but I think I’ll still be able to wear them in Maidenpool.”

“Okay,” he responds, giving up about trying to get any more exciting details from her, and it’s almost painful.

“How was your Sevenmas?” she entertains.

He snorts, “Just another day, met up with Elder Brother for lunch. He gave me some treats for the dogs.”

“Oh good, I’m glad you got to see him. How is he?”

“Alright, I guess,” he answers, not like they talk about his health.

“Did you tell him about us?” she asks.

“Of course,” Sandor tells her, “he was surprised I think, especially since last time I saw him was when you were picking me up from out there.”

“Oh yeah,” Sansa seems a little forlorn remembering that, which pains him, but she recovers quickly with a little laugh, “I guess I could understand. I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m going to be the one losing you, little bird. I’m not going anywhere,” he tells her straight because he’s not looking forward to the day she moves on with her life.

“Don’t say that, Sandor,” she responds back to him.

“It’s the truth,” he replies, resigned.

She doesn’t reply and he can hear a little sniffle and movement like she’s grabbing a pillow or something. “Are you crying?” he asks her.

“You just said I’m going to leave you, and you believe that,” she whimpers, and he can definitely tell she’s started crying a bit.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He hates that he somehow finds a way to sabotage things all the time and that he's learned to fucking apologize or else.

“Why do you even want to be with me if you think I’m just going to leave you?” she questions, getting into victim mode, which always drives him crazy.

“I don’t know. I’m stupid, okay, just don’t be upset.” He puts his hand over his face, frustrated with himself, wishing he could take it all back because it’s so hard to contain shit once it’s said.

“Do you even know how much I miss you and look forward to you calling me every night?” she points out, getting almost angry at him, which makes him relax a bit. He can handle that, she’s sexy when she gets passionate about something, even if it's being upset at him.

“And I can’t wait for you to get back,” he grits out, which seems to appease her.

“So you miss me, too, your little bird?” she questions, and he can imagine her eyes widened and looking at him so sweetly.

“Of course I do. This sucks,” he tells her. “Why do you think I’m calling you and asking how little clothes you have on while you’re lying in bed? Gods, girl.” He hasn’t liked having her away so soon after she’s finally his.

“So are you in your _pajamas_ in bed?” she giggles a bit in response.

“You guessed right, little bird,” he smirks, liking this direction. “Right here, waiting for you, all clean, too.”

“Mmm,” she purrs like a kitten, and that could make him cum, just that, _especially if she were riding his cock._ “Do you want me to take off my pajamas?” she whispers coyly.

“Seven hells, yes, Sansa,” he immediately replies, and instinctively moves his hand down to slip around his cock. However, he hears some commotion like someone rapping on the door and what sounds like Arya’s voice screeching. “Sansa, get off the phone, Theon somehow pulled the other team to victory, we need you!”

“Oh, sounds like I have to go, honey,” Sansa coos to him.

“You can tell me more about your day,” he attempts to keep her on the line.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, okay? Miss you so much!” she tells him.

“Okay, bye little bird,” he tells her and then she’s off the line. Probably for the best, she’d be shocked no doubt if she knew he was stroking himself while talking to her about taking her clothes off. He huffs a laugh at that thought, his innocent little bird. No use to waste that thought though as he takes care of himself before falling asleep without her next to him again.

 


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: The Dinner and Dance!

“Oh Jeyne, what am I going to do?” Sansa whines as another bouquet of flowers is delivered to her room. Her mother had the audacity to provide her personal phone number as well, so she’s been getting a stream of messages asking what her favorite dance is, the ubiquitous ‘hey’ she just ignores, and all manner of requests now that most houses have arrived for the New Year’s Eve dinner tonight _. Who knew there would be so many men interested in her? Are there billboards around the North now with her dating profile on them?_ Still, Jeyne has pointed out some of these suitors are further in age than even Sandor. A few may even be married. _Ick!_ It makes her feel like some kind of princess being traded during the War of the Five Kings. _Has her father announced a dowry now?_ she thinks sarcastically.

“Just try to enjoy all the attention, Sansa, though you may have to evade a kiss at midnight,” Jeyne laughs, not understanding how exposed this makes her feel.

Picking up her phone, Sansa presses call to Arya. “Yes, San?” she hears Arya answer.

With a slight whimper, she asks her sister, “Do you think you can help me escape?”

Arya just laughs at her and snarks, “You can’t escape your own party. I even get to wear a dress for this formal occasion you asked Mom for. And yes, I hate you.”

“I didn’t realize it was going to be like this,” she defends herself.

“You should’ve just told her. She’s already suspicious every time you get up and leave when he calls you.” Then distracted, Arya yelps, “Gendry, stop it!” Sansa can’t help but roll her eyes at her sister. She’s barely been able to talk to her because Gendry’s always there but they’re “just friends,” of course. Her sister has no qualms when it comes to calling her out with Sandor but can’t face it for herself and has been shooting her daggers at dinner every time she’s brought Gendry up to her.

“You really think Mother might know?” Sansa asks, wondering the implications of that.

“She knows there’s probably someone, though I’m sure she’s in denial that it could be the Hound. Never underestimate the power of denial when it comes to our parents.” Arya laughs, “I’ve got to go.”

“Wait, are you bringing Gendry?” Sansa asks her.

“I guess he’ll come with me,” Arya answers, disinterested. _Ugh,_ her sister doesn’t even realize there’s probably not a place set for him, guess she’ll have to text their mother.

“Arya, still being a brat,” Sansa snarks to her friend as she texts her mother about Gendry.

“She’ll never grow up,” Jeyne laughs as she helps Sansa finish getting ready and gets dressed herself, too. “Have you told Sandor about all this yet?”

“No, he would be too upset,” Sansa admits. It’s been hard to tiptoe around it, especially when she brought up her gown fitting on accident. She really wishes he could see her like this, but he has an ability to weasel things out of her that she’d rather he not know and a selfie of her with the works in jewels and what not would make him suspicious no doubt. He’s been worried enough that she’s going to leave him or not return to Maidenpool, and she doesn’t even know what to do with that so telling him she’s at a dinner with a dozen noble suitors would not bode well.

Over the past week or so, Jeyne and her have been hanging out a lot, which has been awesome to just be with her best friend after all the drama with Margaery. Her friend was shocked at first when she told her about Sandor being her boyfriend, and she was worried about showing her the picture of him. However, Jeyne soon recovered after Sansa explained how happy he’s made her and how long they have been close. Now Jeyne thinks they are so romantic, being opposites and finding love in Maidenpool – that they even visited Jonquil’s Tower together – which is a bit crazy but the support is fantastic.

Luckily, Jeyne has had more boyfriends than her, and she’s explained a lot to her while they’ve poured over magazines and even helped her find some websites that were good resources. When Sansa confided in her about Sandor’s interest in pleasing her, Jeyne was like, “Oh my, you’ve got a good one there. He just keeps sounding better and better,” giving her a nudge with a bright, laughing smile. Talking it through did make her feel a little better about it and hopefully she’ll be able to relax more around Sandor once she gets back. So far, it sounds like things between them are pretty normal, if not better than normal.

In a way, as much as she misses him, being away in Winterfell has shown her how much he cares – calling her every night, many times it’s like he wants her to keep talking just to hear her voice and be with her while they’re both laying in bed before going to sleep. It’s like she can feel over the phone how much his arms itch to wrap around her, pulling her close to him. Looking back in the mirror at the dress, the makeup, and jewels, she wipes away a tear with her perfectly manicured fingertips, and it hits her how much she doesn’t want to do this. She doesn’t want to be this person, not even a person really, just a doll.

As much as she loves all the glamour, it’s not real; it’s not going to hold her when she’s crying and alone, worried her ex is going to show back up. Those suitors will see her like this, at her most adorned, and think her beautiful, but they won’t know her, won't even see her, the person inside. Sandor’s seen her at her lowest, a crying mess or hurting herself and angry at him, and he still wants her, still cares. How can he think she’ll leave him after everything? She’s more worried he’ll finally have had enough, like last time he pushed her out.

“Don’t cry, Sansa!” Jeyne comes over, wrapping her arms around her shoulders, now zipped in her own gown. “It’s going to be alright. You’ll be back in Maidenpool in a few days, and then I’ll be sad without you.”

“You’re right,” she turns around to hug her best friend. “I wish you were there, too! Everything would be right then.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Dear, are you alright?” her mother asks, looking concerned as she fixes a few strands of her hair in place.

“Yes,” Sansa forces herself to smile as sincere as she can, trying to let her anxieties subside. Though after walking down with her father to be presented, she’s quickly overwhelmed again by being seated for dinner surrounded by suitors vying for her attention. Her only saving grace is Jeyne across from her, though a seat over.

She has to explain her whole life it seems, and one even brings up her attachment to Prince Joffrey, making her pale. Jeyne was able to make some joke to redirect from that, but it was not easy. When one asked to see some of her artwork, the only thing she still has on her phone is her final piece of Sandor. At this point, she was like “fuck it,” and pulled her phone out of the genius pocket she had added to the folds of her gown, pointing out, “this is a close friend of mine,” to their shock. Good to know even her drawing of him can intimidate though she’d like to think she brought out more sides to him.

She was relieved when her father came to her to start the dancing and led her out for a simple waltz.

“Are you enjoying your evening, Sansa?” her father asks her.

“Yes, it’s just overwhelming,” she admits.

“I told your mother, we should have something smaller, but she doesn’t want to leave anyone out, especially if they have sons.” Her father chuckles, but she can’t find the amusement in it when it’s happening to her.

“I suppose,” she replies, growing tired of how little her father understands and already having lost most of her patience this evening. Soon, she’s in a continuous stream of dancing with suitors, realizing this is a horrible way to get to know anyone. She tries to enjoy a dance with Robb who she always loves to dance with at these occasions just to get interrupted by another suitor, and her brother just hands her over.

Feeling her phone buzz near the end of the evening, she sneaks away telling her dancing partner she has to go to the lady’s room. “Sandor?” she answers heading into the hallway.

“Hey little bird, it will be a new year soon,” he sounds a bit groggy like he’s about to fall asleep.

“I know, I wish you were here to kiss me,” Sansa tells him.

Sandor makes a pleased hum, “Me too. I'm sure those lips could use a proper kissing.”

“Oh Sandor," she giggles, "Thanks for calling. This is so hard. I guess I’ll be heading back in a few days.”

“That’s good. What are you doing with the family? Getting sleepy?” Sandor asks her. Now that it’s over she feels like she can tell him almost. Suddenly, she hears someone calling for her from behind in the hallway as she’s heading to her room.

“Sansa, you’re not leaving before midnight are you? I get it, let’s just talk somewhere.”

“I’m on the phone, sorry,” she tells the person and hears Sandor say, “Who’s that?”

“I don’t know. He’s here for the dinner," Sansa tries to quickly explain to Sandor.

“Dinner?” she hears Sandor question as the other man comes toward her, swaying a bit. Her eyes widen trying to figure her way out of this and then looks behind him to see her mother turn a corner into the hall toward her.

“Sansa, there you are, dear, with Mallister.” Her mother sounds cordial, but the look she gives her is fierce.

“Lady Catelyn,” Mallister, evidently, greets her mother.

“Please return to the party, they’re having the toast, Mallister. I need to speak with my daughter, if you could be so kind,” her mother dismisses the man much to her relief. Meanwhile she’s trying to explain to Sandor, “Hey, we had a dinner for New Year’s Eve. I’ll tell you more later. My mom needs to talk to me. I’ll call you back, okay?”

“Fine, little bird.”

“Happy New Year if you’re asleep when I call back, kisses,” Sansa sings to him before ending the call to look up into her mother’s knowing gaze and the sound of Mallister’s footsteps trailing away.

“You needed to talk with me, Mom?” Sansa finds her voice.

Mother just sighs and takes her by the hand, softening her tone, “In your room, Sansa,” and walks with her upstairs.

Sitting down on her bed with her mom, Lady Catelyn takes her hand in both of hers, “I want you to tell me what’s going on. I see you whenever we’re up late together, getting a phone call, a light comes over your face and you excuse yourself smiling and are gone for the rest of the evening usually. This is some boy?”

“Um,” Sansa swallows hard to gather her thoughts, “I do have a boyfriend, and he’s the one that calls me.”

Her mother jumps in, “Why haven’t you told me? We did all this for you tonight, and you’ve kept this hidden. Who is this boy? I haven’t heard a word from you of having any guys as friends even.”

“I was worried about how you would react,” Sansa can feel herself start to crumble a little with all the stress of the day and night, and she tries to avoid looking at her mother, who is also being so concerned in her focus on Sansa in the moment.

“Just tell me, dear,” her mother coos, pulling the pins out of Sansa’s hair and taking off her jewels for her.

“It’s Sandor, he’s my boyfriend,” Sansa confesses and feels her mother’s touch tense, frozen against her at this reveal, no doubt a shock.

Her mother’s poise is legendary though and she recovers quickly, moving to hold Sansa at her shoulders and look her full in the face. “Sandor Clegane? That man?” her mother says as if a question, a slight tremble to her lip. Sansa just nods, not sure what to say.

Spending the night with all these charming young nobles and not even giving one a second glance, she knew as soon as she heard Sandor’s voice how much she was yearning for him, how much she feels for him. Without thinking, she tells her mother, “I think I love him.” Her hand goes up to lightly cover her mouth as her eyes fill with water, forcing her to look up and blink to keep from crying.

“Oh, Sansa,” her mother responds, rubbing her shoulders, like she can’t make her mind up to be happy or sad. Looking back at her mother, Sansa pulls her to her for an embrace, and she can feel her mother’s tension start to subside. They stay like that for awhile, just holding on to each other to communicate in a way words fail.

Pulling away, Sansa wipes her eyes, nodding to her mother, both laughing slightly at how they’re sitting on her bed in their fanciest dresses, wiping tears from their eyes. Remembering her predicament, she pleads with her mother, “Please don’t tell Father yet. He won’t understand. Please just give me a chance, another semester at Maidenpool and we’ll see then. Please Mother.”

Though Lady Catelyn looks visibly shaken, her mother seems to acquiesce, “Okay, Sansa.”

At that, Sansa can’t help but beam, feeling a weight off just telling her mother, and gushes, “I know you will come to like him. I would never dream of this happening, but it has and I’m very happy.”

Her mother gets a sterner look in her eye all of a sudden as if a plan of action is being decided. “I do want to meet him, Sansa, and I want you to maintain your own apartment. None of this living together like your brother, Robb, has gotten into with this Talisa girl. Yes, I will come to visit in a month or so, as soon as I can be away from your younger brothers. I will keep your secret for now, but soon you will inform your father. It would be too much for him right now.”

“Okay, mother,” Sansa agrees, feeling the anxiety of having to work with Sandor on that.

“How old is he?” her mother asks, her gaze unrelenting.

“31,” Sansa gulps.

Her mother hums a note of disapproval before asking, “And what does he do now exactly?”

“He’s in the Reserves through the Quiet Isle base and mostly trains dogs for bomb-sniffing and what not for the government.” Sansa tries to showcase her boyfriend.

“Does that keep him busy? Is that good work?” her mother continues her line of questioning.

“I’m not sure. He doesn’t seem too terribly busy,” she feels her confidence dropping.

“Hmph,” her mother considers her response before continuing, “I know that he did not accept the knighthood, so perhaps he could reconsider for your sake though I don’t know about his birth. I will look into it.”

“Mother!” Sansa worries over her prying into Sandor’s past and his family.

“Does he have something to hide?” Her mother tilts her head, raising an eyebrow slightly.

“It’s just a sensitive subject for him. His family, that is,” Sansa tries to explain, already regretting telling her mother about any of this.

“Where does he live in Maidenpool?”

“On the other side of the large park, further from the college, in a small house with a courtyard for his dog training,” Sansa explains.

“How long have you been together?”

“Well, officially, about…a month now,” she tries to figure it up in her head. “We were friends for awhile though before that.”

“Oh, this is very recent then,” her mother seems relieved at that news. “Why do you think he wants to be with you?”

This question of her mother’s is much more subjective and something she hasn’t even asked herself. She starts, “I’m not sure. He seems to really care about me, and he’s been a good friend, seeing me through some difficult periods.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to ask him if you are still together when I come to visit.” Her mother pats her knee and gets up, looking in the mirror to make sure she’s presentable to leave.

“Okay,” Sansa replies, feeling perplexed at where her mother stands on this new development and feeling burned a bit by the slight that it could end quickly. _Gods, she just said she thinks she loves him!_

Her mother turns to look at her, “Thank you for being honest with me now, Sansa, and I promise this will be between us for now.” Sansa gets up to hug her mother good night as there’s no use talking more about it tonight.

“Happy New Year, Mom,” Sansa smiles, giving her mother a kiss on both cheeks.

“Happy New Year, my precious Sansa,” her mother seems to melt looking at her and gives her kisses on the cheek, too, and squeezes her tightly in an embrace like she doesn’t want to let go. “I love you, you know that, we love you,” her mother seems to squeeze her a little harder. “Your father and I want what’s best for you dear, we want you to be happy. You just need to let us know how.”

 


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV: Elder Brother and Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed my update last week! I hope this make up for it. I had a room painting project that stretched on and I didn't get to write last week. I'll probably add a picset later, just busy summer stuff :) Thanks for comments and encouragement, Sansan fangirls, you are the best!

“So yeah, I’m getting better at figuring out when I need to shut my trap, but this whole gift thing has been a nightmare,” Sandor shakes his head at Elder Brother, sitting with him over tea during his appointment. It’s been bothering him what he should do about the gift with her coming back in another day. 

“I thought you said you gave her what she wanted?” Elder Brother looks at him with a quizzical expression.

“Yeah, she wanted a photo of me,” he picks at his nail a bit, “and I thought of getting her a new bed, but she wouldn’t hear anything of it. Then she seemed fine about it all until saying how I didn’t really get her anything after she left and what the fuck am I to do with that.”

“Hmm,” Elder Brother grins at him, “She wanted a photo of you, and I’m glad you obliged, Sandor. Now I know it may not make sense to you, but she wants you to pick something out for her from a store that’s not necessarily useful. It makes her feel like you care.”

“Fuck me,” Sandor huffs, lost as to what that would entail. “She needs to be more practical. Still, I have to figure something out before she comes back.”

“What does she like?” Elder Brother asks him.

“Muffins, dogs, green food, um…her art,” Sandor shrugs, then mentally adding how she mentioned liking jewelry, which makes him kind of twist inside with discomfort. “Then, somehow I told her my birthday’s coming up, and she was thrilled to come up with something for that.”

“Try to think of a gift related to those things she would like, like a sketchbook or something?” the old man encourages him, and it’s actually a decent idea as he nods at the man. Then Elder Brother squints at him slightly, “What does her interest in you physically make you think?”

“I don’t know, try not to think about it ‘cause I don’t get it. When I’m with her, it’s not an issue. At least so far. She did do a drawing of me for her class, included the scars.” He takes a deep breath, remembering it, how strange it is to have her spend all that time on drawing him, even after “sitting” for her she had spent more time working on it. She seemed proud of it, too, when she showed it to him, and if he didn’t think of it as himself, it was actually cool, even badass. It did look like him and didn’t gloss over his scars, which surprised him about her, he’d have thought she’d try to perfect him to fit into her view, her style, to hint at the scars merely. He’d hate to admit it was something like acceptance to see how she must see him, as he is.

“Wow,” the brother responds, “I'd like to see it. And what do you think of her work?”

He shrugs, before slipping a hand through his hair, looking around at the sparse room. “Seven hells if I know, it’s not what I expected from her, but who’d have thought she’d want to draw this,” he points to his scarred half and directing his gaze at the Elder Brother, challenging. “Probably thinks she was doing something different, pushing the limits to draw a disfigured freak, calling it art or some shit.” He chuckles a bit.

The Elder Brother gives him a pointed look like he’s never seen before from the man, even when he’s been serious in the past. Then he calmly asserts, “You don’t believe that, and you’re putting her down because it makes you uncomfortable – that she could accept you more than you can yourself. Sandor, this is what I’ve wanted you to grow toward, accepting yourself. It’s good to have someone accept you, especially a beautiful young woman for how you look, but if you can’t, does it matter?”

“Fuck off about it,” Sandor sneers at the old man and fights the urge to yell and slam the door in his face. “I didn’t say shit about that. There you go pretending to understand the reason behind every fucking thing.”

“I apologize for being harsh,” Elder Brother looks at him with the sort of warm kindness he usually possesses. “I want to be honest with you though and sometimes that can be too much and I overstep, okay?” Sandor nods, knowing the Elder Brother means well. He continues, “Still, think about seeing the specialist about your scars, she really can do some good work and it could help you. We’re not talking about Sansa, we’re talking about you,” he reiterates, trying to make his point clear. “She can’t save you either from how you view yourself.”

“Alright, alright, who knows how long she’ll think this is a good idea anyways,” Sandor admits, letting his guard down again.

“Sandor, don’t count yourself out so soon. You’ve been good at contacting her while she’s been away and why would she get you that six-month meat CSA if she didn’t plan on being around?”

“Oh yeah, that,” he smirks, feeling a little confidence boost, “still it’s not like she’ll eat the meat.”

“It’s not a positive attitude for your relationship to focus on it’s ending. Why do you want to be with her? Focus on what you have now, appreciate the present,” the old man is trying hard to instill in him some kind of optimism.

After his lack of response, the brother urges, “Go on, tell me what you like about her.”

 _Gods, not a total heart to heart,_ Sandor shakes his head, but goes ahead and clears his throat to voice something. “Well, she’s gorgeous and smart, though for some reason wants me around, and she’s…sweet. She gets down sometimes, but it seems like I make her better again and she’s come to rely on me in a way. She makes things better, what can I say, it’s a lot better having her to wake up to than this old life.”

“That’s wonderful,” the Elder Brother grins at him and he can just roll his eyes, voicing, “Gods.”

“Are you having any other issues you want to address?” the Elder Brother asks him.

Sandor isn’t sure about this but it’s been pulling at him to bring it up. “I don’t know, I guess I’m confused how to handle how she breaks down sometimes, especially if it’s something I do to remind her of her ex. She’s uncomfortable with sex or even clueless at times, I mean I think she may be a virgin but still, some things have seemed off. I remember when we first got together and were at the restaurant, she turned to me and asked that we not have sex that night, like I expected it and she had no choice. It was strange.”

“There can be a lot of confusion around sex because each of us come from different experiences. We already know she’s possibly had an experience of questionable consent in the past. But the most important thing for you is to talk to her about this, about what has happened in the past, what she wants, even if it’s uncomfortable for you and her. You need to know where she stands, and she needs to know where you stand. That’s part of what’s making her uncomfortable possibly, that she doesn’t know what you want from her, so she’s guessing based on her experiences and what she may know from friends or culture.”

“Damn, I’ve been getting some lectures today,” Sandor chuckles at the old man, but it does help.

“Trust me on this, I haven’t always been an old man,” the Elder Brother winks at him, and he can’t help but laugh at the old bastard. “But seriously, Sandor, you’re much older than her, try to think of being her age and her experiences, and try to take the lead to make her feel safe to communicate with you. You won’t regret it.”

 

* * *

 

 

 _Thanks the gods for that old man,_ Sandor thinks as he’s picking up the gift the Elder Brother mentioned from some art store on campus, making sure he asks for the best they got, after getting back from the isle the day Sansa returns. One thing ladies are used to is the best, why does his have to be so into gifts? Maybe she’ll get over it eventually.

Sansa said she’d text him after she got there, but he was planning to get there a little early, help her get back in and everything. He thought about getting her muffins but that would bring up the blasted Rose business. He can only hope that she hadn’t been texting that Rivers kid while she was gone, and she hadn’t mentioned him once at least. Still, hate to think he’d be waiting on her doorstep, too, though he’d take care of that quick enough.

Tess and Stranger in tow, he pulls up to her apartment to wait, knowing she’s close. If he’d waited on her, she would’ve wanted to shower and change and all that business, always wanting to be perfect, his little bird, like she isn’t already.

As she pulls up the lane in her little car with Lady in the passenger seat, Sandor can see her in his rearview mirror in the glow of dusk and hears Stranger start a rhythmic bark, trying to get his Lady’s attention from the bed of his truck. Sansa finds a parking spot in front of her building, and he’s already getting out with Tess in his arms striding towards her. He can hear Lady now yipping from the car, _Gods, they’re going to be a shit show._

Sansa climbs out of the car, Lady jumping across to get out, making Sansa wrestle her leash on her. Sandor looks back to see Stranger contemplating a jump out of the bed of his truck, making him think, _Fuck, didn’t really think this through._ Tess is squirming in his hold as Sansa laughs, “Sandor!” His head snaps back to take her in, with her hair back in a messy braid, a tee shirt and those stretchy excuse for pants she’ll wear half the time. She’s here though and he didn’t want to miss a second of it, especially to see her wide smile directed at him.

Sandor switches Tess to one arm, which is getting harder to do, and wraps his other around Sansa, pulling her against him. Without a word, he bends down to kiss her, catching her by surprise. Her quick eagerness to meet his kiss and bit of frustration as he pulls away pleases him beyond anything, that’s what he’s been wanting, to feel her completely into him. He looks down at her, seeing those big, blue eyes open to peek up at him, that tinge of abashed and unsure she has but also so content. How can he not adore her?

“Hi,” she smiles with a little laugh. _Gods, he hasn’t said a word._

“Hey,” he mumbles, sliding his hand up behind her ear, to hold her there.

“Good to see you, too,” she smiles even bigger, enjoying how captivated he is by her in this moment.

The sound of a crash breaks his focus to look back around and see Stranger had somehow managed the tailgate to fall and jump out of his truck. “Fucking hells,” he swears, turning from Sansa to deal with his beast who’s reuniting with his beloved Lady. Getting all the dogs on their leashes, they try to pee on top of each other on the little patch of green they claim as territory outside her building. No one would think he’s a bloody dog trainer.

Sansa’s trying to get her luggage out of her car, like she doesn’t know he’ll do it for her. “Sansa, I’ll get that, just bring your keys so we can get these mongrels upstairs.”

“I’ve got it,” she points out. _It’s so much easier for him though_ , he shakes his head.

“Why do you think I came early? I don’t want you doing all that,” he comes over and picks up one of her suitcases and hands her the leashes to retrieve the other one she was dragging.

“Oh, I thought you just wanted to see me,” she snips slightly, marching in front of him with the dogs in tow. _Fuck me._

After getting her stuff situated, Sandor runs out to the truck to retrieve her gift, bringing it back in and handing it to her with some pencils they recommended.

She was setting some food in the pantry and pauses to ask, “What’s this?” puzzled.

“A sketchbook, some pencils,” he tells her.

“I see that. Are they from you?” she looks up at him. _What is he missing?_

“Yes, it’s your gift,” he responds, thinking it’s obvious. His exasperation is coming across since this gift business has been already loads of fun.

“Sandor, I said you didn’t have to get me anything else, but thank you,” she gives him a slight smile.

Trying to remain calm, he still grits out, “You say one thing one day, another the next, so I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Elder Brother told me to get you something, so I did.” He then stalks over to the couch and slumps down onto it, knowing she’ll probably shut down now. He watches Stranger licking Lady some and gets Tess’s attention to play with her while he hears Sansa continuing to arrange her stuff and head into her bedroom.

He decides to follow her in there, saying her name, wrapping his arms around her from behind, and letting out a deep breath. He feels her relax some and lean back against him. After a moment of him nuzzling the top of her head – it always smells exactly like her right there – she whispers, “I’m sorry,” and turns to face him.

He kisses her forehead, but she pulls back from him going further. Instead she speaks, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make things so complicated.”

He sighs, “I know. I did come early to see you, too, first and foremost.” Whether she wills it or not, he squeezes her against him, just relieved to have her here again. He takes a breath, telling her, “I don’t know if I’ll ever be any good at gifts for you, but anything you want me to do, just ask.” He pets her back now, feeling her hold onto him, and he slides his hands down to her waist to lay her on the bed.

He decides to forgo the conversation Elder Brother suggested, would probably be too much for the little bird tonight. He can feel her tense a little under his hands as he reacquaints himself with her form. “It’s alright, little bird, I missed you. Nothing new tonight, okay?” he tries to reassure her. She seems to relax, nodding, “Okay,” before smiling and extending her hands up his chest to wrap around his neck. _Gods_ , she must have a lot of trust in him, not sure he deserves it considering what her sweet submission does to him, makes him want to take her completely.

Taking a moment to look down at her, admiring how gorgeous she is in just her natural form, he rasps, “You’re too good for me, girl.” Still, that doesn’t hold him back from kissing her mouth with all the want he possesses for her whole body. He feels her arms cling to him, her body start to move against him. He realizes how overdressed they both are pulls away to chuck off his clothes, telling her to undress. He playfully pulls off the socks she was going to leave on, saying her feet get cold – yes, he knows they turn into bricks of ice in the middle of the night – but still he’d rather she had as little on as possible.

“I’m going to put my pajamas on, okay?” Sansa tells him, looking at him with a slight shade of fear in her eyes.

“Of course, little bird, whatever you want,” he tells her.

He’s sitting on his bed, watching her turn around to undo her bra, still so modest with him. He can respect that, but he’s got a lot of respect for those perky little tits of hers. She walks back over toward him and he motions for her to sit across his knee. She smiles at him and rests her head on his shoulder. “You’re too good for me,” he hears her whisper to him.

“Never say that,” he puts his hands on her shoulders to make her look at him, too abruptly because she looks at him wide-eyed. He shakes himself out of his reaction, smoothing his hands down her soft arms.

“You said it to me,” she looks at him lost.

Shifting to have her by his side, he tells her, “Maybe I shouldn’t say that, but hells, Sansa, you’re a lady and you’re rich and beautiful. But truly, you’re so sweet, like the Maiden herself. And I’m such a…” He can’t finish because he sees tears start to streak down her face. “What is it?”

“Nothing, I don’t want to talk about it,” she replies and just burrows into him. _There’s another mystery_ , he thinks as he just holds her for awhile. Done crying, she starts fervently kissing him, almost desperate, like she needs him to chase away the Stranger himself. He pulls her on top of him, enjoying having her unbraided hair cover him as she continues to kiss him.

“Sandor, I missed you so much,” she tells him after some of her energy has lapsed.

“I missed you more,” he tells her.

“It’s not always a competition, silly” she jokes, play hitting him with her elbow, but she has a point.

“I’ll probably continue to fuck up on gifts, so you’ve got a pretty good lead on me in that area,” he sleepily tells her.

She laughs,“I just said it wasn’t a competition. Still, consider maybe wrapping your gift and having a card or note attached. That was part of my confusion earlier.” _Gods she’s serious about these gifts._

“You’re just fucking with me now,” he chuckles.

“Actually I was giving you real advice,” she sits up a bit, her mouth contorting to the side in slight confusion.

All he can do is laugh at this point. “Lots to teach your old dog,” he yawns.

“Oh Sandor,” she shakes her head and curls up next to him in her tiny bed that he kicks himself for not just showing up with a ribbon around a new king mattress for her and booting this one out the door.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: Communication Fun Day

“Sandor, my dad gives me money to pay for all this stuff,” Sansa chides her boyfriend while getting some supplies she knows she’ll need for her new classes starting tomorrow. She loves that he wants to come with her, but why does he think he should pay for her?

“I’m taking care of it, okay,” he mutters to her. She decides then to just get her business texts after class Tuesday maybe Petyr can help her. _Maybe he’ll let her call him Professor now that she’s in his class, too._

“Want to grab a coffee? It’s so cold today,” she shivers slightly as they breeze out the door. She wants to wrap her hands around a warm cup of tea.

“Sure,” he grabs her hand, and it must seem like ice because he looks at her surprised and grabs the other one, “You’re freezing,” and is looking around for the nearest coffee shop there on campus. For some reason that store wasn’t warm at all, and her hands never warmed up from their walk over here.

“It’s just my hands,” she smiles at him, “They get cold and I left my good gloves at Winterfell, not thinking I’d need them so far south. It’s kind of like my feet when I sleep.” He eyes her and then smirks with understanding, since he’s always complaining about her feet in the morning in the coolness of his bedroom. She laughs, “Winter is coming,” and slips one her hands up his shirt.

“Hells, Sansa,” he jerks away from her and she’s giggling at his reaction. “You’re lucky there’s no snow here or you’d be getting covered, girl,” he jeers at her.

“Oh, I thought you were so gallantly worried about me freezing,” she teases him back.

“I am,” he nears her again with a tiny smirk of mischief. “You remember when I snuck up on you in that dungeon right after I met you. You nearly jumped to the ceiling,” Sandor laughs to himself and places his hands on her waist. “I had to hold you like this to keep you from fainting to the ground.” He’s definitely heating her up as he pulls her closer to him, making her think over that early memory of him and start to melt as he leans over to kiss her. This is rare, she thinks, as he usually doesn’t show this much affection in public. Before she knows it though, she jumps herself as Sandor moves his hand up to tickle her side. _Gods, he’s figured out where to push my buttons._

“Damn you,” she swears at him, pulling away and pointing with her still freezing hand at him.

Sandor laughs deeply, he just loves it when she curses evidently, before pulling her back into his arms, whispering, “Oh, little bird,” and gives her a crushing hug, making her feel like maybe he could love her, too.

Ordering at the closest coffee shop, Sansa insists on paying, explaining, “Really Sandor, my dad is going to think it’s odd if I’m not paying for my school supplies and stuff. I’d get a job, but Daddy wants me to focus on my studies.”

“You’d get a job?” he looks down on her, amused.

“Don’t. Seriously though I’ll have to explain to him,” she tries to make him understand. Trying to order him a black coffee with her tea, she's interrupted by him saying, “No coffee to the barista.” She glares at him as she hands over her card to pay and takes the steaming hot cup and tea bag, snipping at him, “You just have to be difficult,” and walks off to a lone table in the back, away from the drafty windows.

“Sansa, this is the way I am,” she hears him grate behind her, as if that’s an explanation. She sighs, keeping her eyes averted as she takes her seat, him taking the one next to her.

Sandor complains, “Never a decent chair in one of these places.” She settles herself into silence, plunking her tea bag in and out of the hot water, craning her head on an elbow to face the opposite direction of him. _Why does he have to take every opportunity to point out what a princess life she’s had but then won’t even let her get him a cup of coffee?_

“Shit, Sansa, I’d rather he knows about us. I’m not afraid of Lord Eddard Stark.” Sandor tells her in a deep, determined voice before physically pulling her around to face him, though not ungently. She glances up at him to see his unwavering gaze that’s like an unstoppable force itself, never letting her hide, before looking back at her swirling tea bag and settling her fingers around the warm cup.

“I didn’t want to tell you over the phone, but my mom knows now,” she informs him. “Though we agreed to wait on telling Dad, since the dinner and everything would’ve been a bit much for him. She’s wanting to come visit soon.”

She looks back up into his furrowed brow, like a confused bear, _he’s so cute like that._ He asks, “What about the dinner? Your mother coming here?”

“Oh,” she brings her hand up to her lip, _crap_ , “It’s just the dinner we had, just a lot of stress on him. Dad doesn’t usually like to have such an expense, and all the Northern families were there.”

“What does that have to do with your dad knowing about us?” Sandor bears down on her with his inquisitive eyes, making her nervous.

“Okay, I hadn’t told Mom until the end of break, so she had maybe implied that potential suitors could attend. So there were some men there to meet me. Don’t be angry at me, baby, please,” she begs him, worried and grabbing at his hand as he pulls away from her, putting his elbows on the table.

“So that’s what that was about on the phone that night,” he speaks quietly, too calm, as his hands are at his temple and he’s not looking at her. He then sneers, “Was it really your mother?” with a sarcastic huff.

Desperate, Sansa responds, “Of course, Gods! I was trying to get away to talk to you. I wanted to spend midnight with you, but I ended up telling my mom that it was you and that you’re my boyfriend. And then we had a whole discussion.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he looks over at her with those hard, steel eyes that pierce any armor she could try to defend herself with, filling her with trepidation that he could escalate. _He always says he’d never hurt me._

“I didn’t want to upset you. Please Sandor, I’m sorry, ” she implores, keeping her voice down and trying to hold it together in public.

Though his hand moves to grab her arm, he stops. Still, ever steady, his gaze is sharp and even threatening as he commands, “Don’t ever lie to me again.” Sansa nods nervously to him, but Sandor barely notices because he’s getting up and holding a hand out to her with barely a glance in her direction. His next command, “Let’s go.”

After a tense and silent walk back to her place, Sansa mechanically tells Sandor where to set her stuff and goes into the kitchen to fix a light meal while Sandor takes the dogs out. She notices a slight tremor in her arms that she hasn’t felt in awhile and tries to focus on her task to keep from breaking down about whatever just happened.

Sitting down to their salads, she’s sipping the wine she opened to try and chill her neurotic relapse. _Probably should’ve taken a hit out on the roof while he was gone._ Also she’s just looking down and being quiet to avoid any further confrontation; meanwhile he gobbles down her offering unaware. She’s lost in her own world of worries, barely eating the lettuce that tastes more like ripped up pieces of paper, and doesn’t even realize a tear falls down her cheek as she contemplates the sunflower seeds she sprinkled in her salad. _Seeds. Little bird. That was a happy day._

She looks over at him, and he’s just running his plate over with bread to catch all the dressing he loves more than the salad itself. “Thanks,” he mumbles when he catches her eyes trained on him. She doesn’t answer, setting her fork down to get up.

“Sansa?” he grabs at her as she walks away, missing her he gets up to follow her. “You didn’t finish your salad,” he sates confused.

“You eat it,” she rolls her eyes and sits down on the floor in the living room, Lady following suit, and pets her trying to draw on that comfort. Sansa sighs, looking around at her cute, quirky room that’s her little sanctuary here.

“Sansa, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. I can’t read your mind,” he comes over to her, sitting in one of the chairs.

“Why? I’m just a liar,” she snarks, but her confidence is false and that tremor she felt earlier surges through her. She gets up, holding onto Lady’s collar to trudge back to the kitchen and refill her wine glass.

Sandor gets in her way to stop her from leaving, holding her shoulders, “Wait a minute, little bird.”

Frustrated, she bites, “Okay, I can’t just pick you up anytime it’s convenient, ever actually, or physically stop you in any way, so it’s not fair for you to just push me around.” Somehow she’s still holding onto whatever strength she has, not wanting to be weak, even if it’s how he can make her feel.

“The brother’s right,” Sandor admits, vaguely, letting go of her, “I’m sorry.” Sansa moves past him into the kitchen. She’s glad for whatever cover she has in here while she gulps down another large glass of wine till she feels that dull relief in her mind spread through her.

“Sansa?” she hears him call for her and then his heavy steps coming toward her.

She sets down her now empty glass, turning toward him. “Drinking wine in here?” he questions her, confused, _like he doesn’t understand the science of alcohol._ “Sansa, talk to me,” he presses and then lifts her up on the counter as he is want to do.

“There you go picking me up again,” she mutters, feeling a bit tipsy, since she barely ate anything and over half the bottle is in her belly.

“I thought you liked it,” he answers, seeming more like the Sandor she knows, his warm hands at her side. He then softly strokes down her arms, whispering, “I want to make this right. I want you to be happy.”

The wine is probably now working for her detriment as she feels her will against him start to break. She leans toward him, and he wraps his arms around her, holding her tight against his chest and then running one of his hands through her strands. Sandor clears his throat, still holding her close, and starts in a new tone, admitting, “It’s hard to know what to say to you sometimes. I don’t know how to make you understand, and I work hard not to be the man I was to you. But, Sansa, I was extremely angry earlier. First, you won’t accept that I mean to take care of you, then you’re keeping me from your parents while keeping from me that they’re introducing you to other men. Maybe you have another boyfriend up there. You’re a beautiful girl, too beautiful for me, so I get it. If you don’t want to be with me, just fucking say it. Maybe they…”

“Shhh,” Sansa tries to soothe him and then shifts to kiss him. At least he understands that and pulls on her lips desperately. Her hands move to cup both sides of his face, holding him while she pulls away to place soft kisses all over his face, particularly trailing over his scars to his missing ear. Sandor tenses at first but then seems to relinquish whatever he was holding onto and just hums, content-like, with his hands sliding up and down her back before settling low around her.

She whispers, “I’m sorry, but you really scared me. I hate it when you’re like that with me, I don’t know what your limits are. It’s like you’re not you anymore.”

She feels his chest expand as he takes in a deep breath before speaking, “I know, but you can’t keep things from me like that.” He rests his head on her forehead, “I used to always be like that, always mad. You wouldn’t have liked me then. If I ever hurt you though, I’d probably…” Sandor shakes his head, and then looks her in the eye. “It’s not going to happen,” like he’s saying it to reassure himself more than her. It reminds her a bit of what Margaery had told her, that she still doesn’t know so much about him.

Sandor’s watching her and threads his hand into her hair, asking, “What, little bird? Is that not all?” his eyes crinkling slightly with amusement.

“It’s just you said you were different before. Margaery had said I didn’t know you. I mean I think she was wrong about some things, but she mentioned you had a certain reputation in Saltpans.”

“Oh, Margaery,” he snorts, “I got in some fights, I don’t drink anymore, much, so that took care of that.”

“Not that, like with women,” she sits back on the counter to gauge his reaction.

“Women? In Saltpans?” he laughs and then confused, asks, “What did she say about that?”

“Just that you’d been with a lot,” she tries to shrug, but it still feels awkward. Sansa is immediately regretting discussing this; she’d just been curious and even concerned about how different their experiences are.

Sandor seems to let out an awkward huff, “I don’t know I’d say a lot. Some. For short periods of time. I told you I hadn’t done this before.” He points between them and looks back at her rather sheepish as though he can’t gauge how she’ll react to this, hoping he said the right thing to get by sans issue.

“Is that all she said about me?” he asks.

“She brought up your family,” Sansa whispers.

He growls, turning to the side and mumbling under his breath, “bitch.” Sansa tenses, _yes, confirmed that that is a very touchy subject._

“What did she accuse me of that you don’t believe?” _His curiosity about this conversation is endless; next he’ll ask her about details on the kiss._

“It’s hard to say. Like sexual things,” she looks down at her hands.

This seems to pick his interest though, and Sandor turns back towards her. “We can talk about sex together. I want you to feel safe to talk to me about it. Here get off the counter, it’s getting late, let’s go ahead to bed.” _What he wants to talk about sex in my bed with me? How’s that supposed to be easier?_

“Okay,” she mumbles, sliding off the counter and feeling rigid in her movements.

“See this is why we need to talk about it. Whenever sex is brought up, you immediately tense up.” Sandor points out as they head to her room, his shirt already coming off.

“Not helping,” she sings sarcastically back at him.

After slipping on her pajamas and crawling into bed with Sandor, she still feels uptight as he stretches alongside her. It’s like he tries to touch every part of her with his body to be all skin on skin. He tells her, “I never thought I’d like this as much as I do.”

“What, baby?” she asks, confused.

“This,” he looks at her like it’s obvious.

“Oh, cuddling,” she smiles.

He snorts, “Cuddling…” about to argue then sighs, “sure.”

Sandor continues, brushing some hair out of her face, “I don’t know the best way to say this, but I need to know about what sex you have had or not. I want to know what you like, don’t like. Whatever you want to know about me ask.”

She looks up at him, worried about how he’ll judge her if he knows the truth. If he’ll still want her. “But…” she starts.

He interrupts, trying to soothe her, “Sansa, baby, I know you’re a virgin, it’s okay.”

“But I’m not,” she chokes out, and then the tears are coming, and she's trying to turn around but Sandor just traps her against him. So now she’s awkwardly crying on her back… _Will he ever learn to let her be sometimes?_

“Sansa?” Sandor asks. _The poor thing now has to handle this._ He gets up, pulls his shirt on and flips on the light so now he can really see her for the crying mess she is. He’s sweet enough to go grab some toilet paper for her to dab her eyes, though she’d prefer her tissues on the dresser. Little things like that make her smile, thinking of her clueless big man. Looking over at him, waiting at the end of the bed like a concerned Lady, she lets out a sad little laugh trying to compose herself.

“Sorry,” she whispers, swallowing hard.

“No need to apologize, little bird. Tell me whatever you feel like you can.” _He seems so patient but yet determined to know whatever has her upset._

She starts, feeling every weight on her to stop, “I had wanted to wait. I had told him I wanted to wait. I did everything else he asked. Then, I found out about it, about how he’d drugged me. When I confronted him, he thought it was nothing, that I owed him that. That the prince couldn’t have a girlfriend he hadn’t fucked.” _Words he’d spoken._ She’s about to continue, but she glances up to see Sandor just staring blankly, pure rage in his eyes and his hands clenched in fists.

“Sandor?” she reaches over to him, though scared when he’s in this state, “Come back to me. Please, Sandor.” It seems to shake him a little. He looks back at her, softening some, and she can tell the anger isn’t towards her at all.

She sniffles, looking down at her bedspread, feeling eerily at peace, “I don’t remember any of it. It’s weird. I don’t know if it counts. It’s like I’m still a virgin, but I know I’m technically not.”

“Fuck that bastard. Should’ve fucking ended him,” Sandor barks to himself, running a hand through his hair. She hates that he has to focus on her ex after all this, it’s not like she’s told anyone else.

“You’ve already done more than anyone else. I just want it to be over. There’s no winning,” Sansa tells him, indifferent, and slipping off the bed to go find Lady.

“Hey, wait,” he tells her, getting up, and at least he isn’t pinning her down to stop her this time. “I’m pissed that anyone could do that to you, and get away with it even. I had thought maybe something had happened before, and your story confirms it. I don’t care if you’re a virgin or not, might be better for your real first time.”

She cringes, cutting in, “Don’t say it like that. Why didn’t you ask me before?” she bites back.

“I’m sorry. I can see I’m fucking this up,” Sandor admits, coming over to her to see if hugging her is a better strategy. “Thought you’d just tell me if you wanted to before. Elder Brother said I needed to fucking earn my balls and talk to you about it.”

“Wow,” she snarks.

“Hey,” he looks down at her pointedly, “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me. This is good that I know where you’re at now.”

“Can we not talk about it anymore? You’re just confusing me, and I’m emotionally exhausted,” Sansa admittedly whines. She really needs to process this whole conversation before deciding anything with Sandor.

“Of course, little bird,” he kisses her head and lifts up the covers for her to get back into bed, _no doubt the safest course of action for him_. After he gets things settled and the lights off, he crawls back next to her, cuddling her like his usual self, like he didn’t just learn one of her darkest secrets.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Sections of chapter may verge toward Explicit rating.

Sandor surveys the stucco walls of his yard while letting the dogs roam. Crow is getting on well, especially with the old Stranger. The simple courtyard behind his house is even getting Sansa’s touch with bulbs she’s got some strategic plan for in the back, wanting to have flowers and a garden this semester.

Still, the other night stays on his mind. He couldn’t imagine what she’s been going through, and though he’d had his suspicions, knowing for true had been a blow. He couldn’t believe how strong she was, yet he’d felt ten times more cautious with her now. He hated that he’d said it wouldn’t change anything. Hells, he didn’t think it would have.

He couldn’t shake it though, and it had a surprising effect on Sansa, making her more assertive, crawling into his lap and kissing him beyond what he thought her capable of, like she needed him more deeply than he could understand, not even shying away when he grew hard between her legs straddling him. In many ways it was killing him how much he wanted more of her, but he had made up his mind to make sure he did everything right with her. She deserves more than him, but he can at least not take advantage of her faith in him. She was making it hard to touch her without fear of losing control.

Sansa comes through the back door with Lady in tow, “Hey Sandor!” His slight nod to her is displeasing by the look she gives him, “Really, Sandor, you’re going to just be on eggshells around me after everything? Where’s my kiss?”

“Well, you did tell me not to push you around,” he grins at her, even though that accusation had stung a bit, and bends down to give her a quick kiss on her lips. He asks, “What kept you? You said class ended two hours ago.”

As if it’s obvious, she relates, “Well, I needed to go over my semester plans with Petyr. I’m really excited though. I gave Petyr my resume for this summer. His introductory class was so inspirational. He picked out some extra books for me to read when we went to the book store that are more, ya know, thought-provoking narratives on business history that he thinks I should be familiar with. It’s really cool how invested he is in this. And he’s excited about Mother coming to visit. I think I’ll start putting those bulbs in.” Sansa talks away to him as she works on her garden design.

He grunts disinterested in this extraneous family member. He’s more concerned with Lady Stark on the horizon and broods while working with Crow some so the dog won’t bother the little bird.  

After cleaning up for dinner, Sansa comes down, and he sets about putting some pasta together. She comes right up to him expecting his attention, especially as he usually can’t keep his hands off her in the little pajamas she wears, it’s worth the heating bill to keep her so uncovered. He doesn’t understand why he tenses but looking over at Sansa the disappointment is clear.

“Little bird, I don’t mean to be like I have.”

“You’ve barely touched me all week,” she interjects with a pout in her tone. Knowing she missed his initiation so much curls the corner of his lip, and on instinct he moves towards her.

Before he’d have picked her up on the counter by now or taken her straight to his bed, but he suggests, “Let’s lie down together. This can wait.” Sansa smiles so sweetly up at him and extends her arms up to slide around his neck. First though, he reaches out to stroke her face, feeling clumsy with his big, rough hands next to her soft skin. Still, he can’t help but look at her beautiful face, enjoying the sight of her blissfully smiling up at him. Sandor obliges, pulling her up into his arms. The action makes her look like the pleased little princess she is being carried up the stairs.

Laying her down on his bed, her hair splayed out, he reaches for his phone to capture her so perfect like this. “Sandor,” she giggles at him, kicking her feet. That little sweetness in her fills him with want immediately. He never thought this kind of girl would get his blood so hot, but part of it is how much he knows she’s his completely. He wants that, wants her to be his and hopes he never has to let her go.

Stripping down to his boxers and taking his place next to her, Sandor ghosts his hands over her soft legs and little tank, surprising her with a little pinch of her nipple, eliciting a playful nudge. He loves her like this, in her little cute clothes and like she’s meant to be here. Looking up at her, Sansa’s got her lower lip bitten from the tease of his gentle touches. Forward as she’s become, she rushes toward him, kissing him with a pull of his lips. He hums with appreciation as he takes her kiss deeper, feeling her melt in his enveloping arms as he lavishes attention on her perfect lips before nibbling on her long, graceful neck. _So soft and milk white._ He loves hearing her little noises as his mouth presses along her shoulder and back to her ear, pulling at the flesh with his teeth. _Delicious._

Threading one hand in her glorious mane of copper hair that smells like the sunshine she radiates, he breathes her in deeply, enjoying her for a few minutes just like this. His other hand covers the dip in her back, gently brushing the supple skin there. Sansa takes his pause to trail her fingers along his chest and back. The slight prick of her fingernails every now and then excites him though she seems unaware of even the idea that he’d love her to dig them into his skin in the future. He never thought he could do this, just be with someone so simply, for he could spend nearly forever with his sweet little bird. She gives him little kisses on his shoulder, mimicking him with the slight pressure of a bite. It makes him smile without control at how willing she is to please him in any way she learns. It’s like a dream.

He whispers to her as he pulls his hands through her strands, “ I want you so much, my little bird.” She pulls away to look up at him with unfeigned innocence in her eyes. The words, “so perfect,” slip out from his lips on their own. Her eyes widen but then a little tear escapes them. He knows why, he knows she doesn’t think she’s perfect at all anymore, not even close. Pulling her close in an embrace, her hears her whimper, “sorry,” against his chest.

“Don’t be,” he tries to console her despite his hardness pressed between them, making it slightly uncomfortable for him. He just holds her for several minutes as she gathers herself. He feels like he’s making a difference in moments like this, like he really is good for her because he can make her feel safe and secure.

“Ready for dinner?” he asks her, stroking her hair when she seems better. He hears her sigh, and she pulls back to look at him, her eyes trained on her hands as they slide up his chest to circle his neck. She really is starting to learn what he likes. After a moment, Sansa looks up at him, shyly not giving him an answer, but he can tell she’s saying, _no, she’s not ready for dinner_. 

Sandor smirks at her and raises one of his hands from her back to cup her face, even if it covers so much of it, and he tenderly brushes her cheek. “What do you want, my Sansa girl?” He sees that light go on in her eyes whenever he’s made her happy with some little endearment, something he’s getting used to for the perks of having her like this.

Still, she demurely looks down to respond, “I don’t know, I just want more of you.” Such a response makes him squeeze her whole body closer into him, her tightening her arms around his neck, and making him release a satisfied hum into her hair. His hand runs down her back to give one of her ass cheeks a squeeze, making her involuntarily moan a little and attempt to pull back, embarrassed likely. He chuckles a little and doesn’t let her move as he continues to massage her there, alternating, which as his little bird relents, she seems to really fall into it with her little moans of pleasure and open mouth as he returns to claim it in more kisses, drawing at those perfect lips of hers and delving into it to make her truly unravel for him. _Her ass must be a sweet spot for her, good._

Sandor continues doing this for some time before sliding his hands down her thighs and telling her, “I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

“Okay,” she nods against him, so trusting. He lays her down on her back next to him, softly running his hands over her soft form to get her used to it, keeping his eyes on hers, as his hand goes down over her thin little shorts to press against her there and rub up and down, opening her legs some and making them fall apart for him. He notices a little twitch and her breathing gets heavier already, part nervousness, part pleasure likely.

Watching her closely for any signs of fear, he asks, “Can I take these off?”

“Yes,” she softly answers, and he can tell her anxiousness is there but so is her complete willingness for him. Sandor moves over her on his knees and down to where he grips either side of her shorts, pulling them down her forever-long legs he could die for. Not forgetting to rid her of her pink panties either, he pulls them over each knee, leaving a kiss, and then around each ankle and foot. He looks at her from the end of the bed, almost naked for him and demands, “Top off,” not questioning his thoughts. Not used to commands, but still, Sansa sits up a bit and like the good little bird she is slips the tank off for him.

“So perfect,” he says again, _she’s going to have to get used to being called what she is_ , while his hands stroke her feet and ankles, edging up her calves. He sees the pleased, little smile gracing her lips now as he surveys her, wanting to remember every inch of his goddess. He’ll never let her go now if he can help it. _Damn him to all seven hells, he doesn’t even like her out of his sight and now he’s not even going to want her clothed in his sight._

Her pretty little bird arms stretch alongside her, not covering any part of her beautiful body, being so open to him. She’s sitting up a little bit on a pillow, watching him he can tell, as his eyes trail over each round breast, the curve of her waist and the slight swell of her hips, she’ll only get prettier and softer as she grows into a woman. He wishes his hands could touch all of her at once, but his eyes are drawn to this new land where her redbush, _he smirks to himself remembering her tea,_ adorns the apex of her milk-white thighs. All of her is so creamy and soft to the touch that he shakes his head slightly at the sight before him, too perfect for him.

Her legs had pulled back together when he removed her garments, so he runs his hands up her legs, taking in the softness of each one as he gently tugs them apart slightly, kissing his way up the inside. Once he’s gotten close to her upper thigh, he can feel the little bird squirm slightly and he pulls his head up, eyes closed, to take a long draw of her scent, reveling in the heady aroma of her cunt. He opens his eyes to look at her there, seeing the satisfying sheen across her just before her legs pulled closed again and he can hear the unsure, “Sandor?” from his little girl. He sighs, hating to leave the place he wants to go the most, but caring for his little bird too much to want to overstep.

Pulling away, he lays down beside her again, looking in her eyes, waiting. “Sorry, it’s just why were you looking at me there?” she rattles out. He can tell she felt too exposed to him probably, he’s getting better at reading her and she’s taught him patience if anything.

“Because you’re beautiful and I want to see all of you,” he answers her, still cautious and giving her the space she needs.

“Oh,” she responds, not sure how to take that evidently. Assuming playtime’s over, he’s surprised to hear her quietly ask, “Would you like to touch me more? Like there?”

His hand runs through a strand of her hair as he assures her, “Anything you want.”

“I want you to want it though,” she looks around, and he loves her in these moments when she’s so vulnerable, not knowing what’s supposed to be.

“Trust me, I want it, Sansa, even more to eat you for days,” he tells her with a tightening of his embrace around her middle to reassure her. Maybe that was too much by the way he sees her gulp, unsure, making him respond with a chuckle. That makes her pull away a little, but he pulls her back, saying, “Sorry, little bird. You’re too good for me.”

“Oh baby,” Sansa’s brow crinkles in worry, and her hand shoots up to cover his scarred side, making him flinch slightly. He hates to be reminded of his scars in moments like this as it takes away. She usually makes him forget. With a sigh, he decides to start his work, patiently moving his hand down to tease her red curls first.

“Now you’re going to have to open these legs for me, can you do that?” he eyes her, and she gives him a little nod, letting loose her legs a bit. “That’s my girl,” he tells her with a kiss on her forehead. Slipping his hand further, he lightly circles her clit, feeling how wet she has become from touching her all over. While kissing her with equal attention, he gradually works at adding pressure over time, using his large fingers to trace around her little nub. The little bird shifts next to him when he rubs close to her most sensitive spot, making him most happy when she whimpers slightly with want. She’d beg him to continue if he stopped now.

Sandor lowers his head from those precious lips to kiss down to her breasts, pulling her close with his other arm around her, he focuses on sucking her nipples and giving them all the attention he wishes his mouth could provide to what his hand is engaged in. _Baby steps with his Sansa girl._ He hears her whine, “Oh, Sandor,” and her hands run into his hair, gripping as she takes all the pleasure he wants to give. Still, she tenses when his fingers go further to trace her entrance and how doubly wet it is even, from his ministrations make him groan with want for what that will be when he finally makes her his completely.

He hears her sharp intake of breath and squeeze of her muscles around his finger when he begins pushing that long digit through to delve into the wet, warm inside of her, finding easily the much-engorged part of her inner wall, so soft and touchable. Her hands have reached a fever pitch tugging on his hair, even her nails dig in slightly as she responds to the intensity of his attentions. Sandor continues to wrap her in pleasure, not stopping as she tenses and then melts into some new pleasure he’s giving her. The gentle motions inside her combined with not neglecting her little nub with his thumb have her completely at his mercy so wonderfully that this must truly be a dream for him to have her respond so perfectly. Every little moan from her as minutes go by is a gift to his soul.

“Little bird, I want you to cum for me so hard,” he lifts his head to whisper to her before moving to her open mouth from pleasure with more kisses.

“I don’t think I can,” she cries between kisses.

“No worries, little bird, you’ll just have to tell me when to stop. We have all night,” he responds with a smile then moves to give bites to her neck and shoulder. Sandor continues his onslaught of pleasure for her as every moan and her vice-like grip on him is like heaven with her legs so open for him at this point, she even starts to grind against his hand. “Sandor, kiss me,” he hears her utter breathless and he immediately moves back to her lips. She kisses him with abandon, opening up for him as open as she has become for his hand. Her slippery wetness almost makes it hard to stay in motion for the pleasure she needs most and her grinding hips pick up in motion, and he pulls back to tell her, “That’s my good girl,” before pulling her close to kiss her more. At this, she seems to find the release she had been desperately pushing towards, and he’s so happy, feeling the waves of pleasure run through her and especially to feel her pulse around his finger still in her wetness.

Carefully, pulling out his long finger, he feels her gasp and then her eyes open to look at him with worry in them. He hates that she feels concern for how he’ll react to her uninhibited actions. “You’re perfect,” he tells her before she can say anything and wraps a blanket around her to hold her close. She seems reassured and back to herself, especially as she snuggles into the crook of his shoulder and let’s out a satisfied sigh.

“You’re perfect, Sandor Clegane,” she looks up at him with a drowsiness there. She could fall asleep right here in his arms, and it would be perfect. All he can do is laugh at her ridiculous statement.

“I’m mediocre, you’re amazing,” he responds. She shakes her head at him with disbelieving eyes, still with that beautiful pleased smile on her face. He hopes she has that smile on her face everyday with him going forward. 

He is actually hungry now, but he doesn’t want to leave these peaceful moments with her. Ticking her side after a bit, he asks her, “Again?”

She laughs, sitting up on her elbows, “No, your turn,” to his chagrin.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Sections of chapter may verge on Explicit rating.

With a bounce in her step, Sansa makes her way down to the front of the lecture hall after class and then waits for Petyr to discuss with another student before greeting him. He pulls her in for a hug, which may not be proper for professors but he is her uncle after all.

“Great class, professor,” she sings with a slight jest to him. Even here he requests the students address him as Petyr rather than Professor Baelish.

“I could get used to hearing that,” he grins at her, “might need you in all my classes going forth.”

“Of course,” she smiles. Petyr always looks so proud of her, makes her feel like the best student. “Are we going to be able to have lunch today?” It’s been good to have an alternative to being practically banned by Margaery.

“Of course, princess,” he mimics her in a playful fashion, curling a strand of hair around her ear. “You’re looking awfully radiant. I hope you aren’t getting carried away with this new boyfriend.”

The smile on her lips tightens as the subject of Sandor is brought up. Petyr was highly displeased when she told him about Sandor last week. She didn’t want to keep it from him any longer with Mother coming and everything. “He’s good to me. Sandor has been my friend since I moved here. Plus it’s been about a year since Joffrey, really,” she tries to explain. Shocked at how he responded previously, she’d been thinking up explanations ever since. He just waves a hand, grabbing his bag, not really looking at her as he leads them out the door.

Sitting down at the local café, she orders an Essos specialty and crumples her napkin in her lap, unsure where her stress is coming from. “Why haven’t you been able to be close with Margaery again? She’s an asset to have as a friend,” he voices.

“Well, I don’t necessarily think of friends like that, but she’s been cold to me, even in class. She said some things to me that are hard to take back I imagine or pretend didn’t happen. Thanks for lunching with me instead though,” she smiles over at Petyr. “I think she’ll eventually get over it.” _Or maybe that was the whole point of their friendship to her, eventually dating._ “I hear she sees her brother in King’s Landing a lot now.”

“Even heard talk she’ll be dating Joffrey,” Petyr adds, surprising her with such gossip. The thought of Joffrey makes her cringe.

“I hope she’s happy,” Sansa admits, wanting to let it rest, turning her attention to the steaming plate of vegetables that has arrived, all coated in a delicious sauce.

Petyr laughs heartily at her statement, “Doesn’t matter as long as you are happy, my little Sansa.” Petyr softly touches the back of her hand on the table with his characteristic smile like a cat.

“How is my aunt, didn’t you see her this weekend?” Sansa asks, since he had mentioned being out of town.

“No, I was called to King’s Landing, I’ve been asked to consult for a committee there concerning the state of the finances. Poor Lysa, at least she has her boy,” Petyr explains with a grin, over what he usually orders.

“Oh, that sounds terribly important,” she looks up into his eyes, intrigued.

“Not nearly, at least I don’t have to sit on the committee. My work this summer, now that will be important,” Petyr replies.

“What is it exactly?” she questions, as he still hasn’t explained what she will be doing.

“I still need to get some pieces into place,” he tells her, pushing it off again. “Your resume is sufficient though I did mark it up for you. Please make the corrections and email it to me.”

Her eyes are wide, she didn’t realize it was like an assignment, “Thank you for taking the time,” she responds sincerely.

Petyr peers at her, calculating almost before asking, “What is your boyfriend’s name again? What does he do?” She’s surprised he’s taking an interest as before he didn’t care to know anything. A contented smile comes to her lips as she wants to gush, “Sandor Clegane, he’s known as the Hound from his days in special forces and was even offered a knighthood but refused, the silly man. He had a severe injury though, and now he’s out but still involved, mostly training special dogs for various government purposes. I know you will like him, Petyr.”

“So he’s old for you?” Petyr’s eyes narrow, confused.

“Well, I did swear off boys,” she laughs nervously.

“I see,” Petyr seems to nod with a slight grin as if amused. Another train of thought must occur to him as he insists, “I want us to all have dinner when Cat arrives.”

“That would be wonderful,” Sansa clasps her hands together in celebration.

Petyr’s smile returns, “Anything for our dear Sansa. Cat could use some help vetting this young man.”

“Oh, don’t be too hard on him,” her smile tightens, hopefully Sandor will take it well. He’s promised to be good to her mother, but her uncle…

“By the way, I finished the essays by Lady Arianne. It’s amazing what she went through just to get her voice out there so she could make a difference.” Sansa brings up the first narrative account she started from the extra books he got her. She wanted to start with this particular woman from Westerosi history.

“Was still very much a man’s world then, way beyond what it is now,” Petyr gives her an understanding nod and shrugs as he continues. “At least you have a chance to go to school and be what you want, even see who you want. Imagine having been given off as soon as you flowered to whomever your father made a deal with, hardly ever able to see your family again and possibly die in childbirth. You may not have been able to say no to our philandering Harry from last semester. We may be in Maidenpool, but life wasn’t a song for maidens here. The War of the Five Kings didn’t leave this place untouched.”

“Oh no, I’ve got you lecturing again,” she jests.

Petyr smiles, “Your extra lesson today.”

Sansa ponders aloud, “I know, though it’s hard to imagine my father doing that. When I went and saw the sights here after the first week, I climbed up to the top of Jonquil’s Tower. I had made it out to be the most romantic thing imaginable, but even Sandor pointed out it would be a dark place for a maiden to live, seemingly locked away. It kind of changed my perspective along with how much my life has changed, or grown up,” she shrugs, playing with her fork swirling the noodles.

“Jonquil’s Tower, you’re cute,” he continues to smile, this time it doesn’t even get near his eyes. “Sansa, you have an opportunity here, an opportunity to do something beyond your breeding as a lady of House Stark. That will help, but you could be so much more.”

This talk makes her nervous, sometimes she wishes things could just be simple. “It’s funny you say that because Margaery, despite everything, really brought up how much she wants to do to keep Highgarden in her family.”

“Even pursue a prince,” Petyr interjects with a wink, making that gossip fall into place. _She thinks she can handle Joffrey,_ Sansa shakes her head, worried for her previous friend.

“I hope things work out for this summer, and what you say sounds inspiring, it’s just so overwhelming,” she sighs.

Petyr upturns his mouth in slight disappointment, making her cringe at any disapproval. “You have to be able to take risks, Sansa, to be willing to make sacrifices. That’s all part of learning business.”

“I understand,” she nods, relieved that at least her art classes are simple, hard work without all these complications.

Petyr sighs, finishing his plate. Sandor’s arms would be perfect for how she feels right now. It’s like she’ll probably make an A in Petyr's class, but will she ever make the A with him?

After leaving the café and saying goodbye to Petyr, Sansa sets up in the adorable pink coffeeshop around the corner. She really is starting to love being here in Maidenpool. Mya is going to meet her later to study some, beats the library. She’s got her sketchbook out and laptop to work on her latest design homework for the class Margaery talked her into. At least it seems helpful, she admits to herself.

Sansa barely notices Mya take the place next to her so enthralled is she with getting every detail just so in her design. “You’re hard at work,” Mya laughs.

“Oh,” she responds, startled, “How are you, Mya? I never see you.” She shifts to hug her side.

“I only ever saw you at lunch, which you’ve stopped coming to,” Mya eyes her.

“I think I’d only be welcome with you, plus I don’t mind avoiding Margaery’s coldness and Randa’s crudeness when it comes to me. I’ve been eating with Petyr or going home to Sandor. How’s Mychel?”

“He’s good, we’re boringly happy,” she smiles, making Sansa laugh.

“Boringly happy sounds wonderful. I have my mother’s visit to meet Sandor to look forward to. I’m really excited but then I panic when I think of how many things could go wrong. My mother’s very perceptive, too, dangerously so. For instance, I barely live at my apartment anymore, so I hope she doesn’t pick up on that.”

“Well, you can always tell her you’ll save money by moving in with Sandor,” Mya messes with her, laughing. Sansa elbows her playfully in response – _Mother would be horrified and Father dumbfounded_. Mya continues, “So are you going to clue me in on what’s keeping you at Sandor’s overnight, little virgin no more? You look wonderful and I’m not just talking about your outfit.”

“Oh thanks, Mya.” Sansa smiles at her friend, cringing about the virgin talk. She doesn’t feel like explaining that, it was hard enough to tell Sandor. _And he’s been so understanding,_ she sighs contentedly. “He has been very enthusiastic in introducing some new things to me,” Sansa reds slightly even to suggest that to her friend. Ever since she let him slip off her panties that evening, he keeps getting her naked. They even ended up watching their new show together completely bare, her in his lap, she smiles to herself, she loves the feeling of all his skin against hers. They barely made it to the end with her rubbing up against how hard he always is around her before he carried her upstairs to play as he calls it. She kind of likes thinking of it that way, while being his good little girl.

“I bet,” Mya grins. “Oh, poor Sandor when he was just a friend,” she teases Sansa.

She laughs, remember their friendship, though she cherishes the bond they have because of it, she had chosen to avoid his feelings for her that were there all along. Then she admits to her friend to gauge her reaction, “He likes to call it play.”

“He’s probably got some kinks then, likely having to do with innocent, red-haired maidens,” Mya gives her a wink. “You could always play it up with a sweet, little outfit. I love roleplay.” _Not sure she’s ready for that, though outfits…he does like taking things off her._

“I just hope he doesn’t lose interest,” she admits, and it’s often worried her, giving so much of herself, wanting to please him so badly, but that he would be done with her. It’s a silly thought with Sandor after how long she’s known him, but it’s still there after how Joffrey used her.

“Ah, the ever-present insecurity. Girl, I know,” Mya nods, almost sadly. “Mychel and I are so young, so I wonder when he’s going to want to live a little more, sow some wild oats, rather than just stay with me.”

“Really?” Sansa questions. _Mychel is their age though. At least Sandor has already been down that road in some ways._

“Yeah, it’s just being human, I guess. Hells, I could sow some oats myself, make Randa blush,” Mya jests.

“Good luck with that. You’d sooner see a white walker than see her blush,” Sansa retorts, making them both giggle and decide to focus on their respective homework.

*Though she’s trying to tune her mind back into her design work, this talk has got her thinking back to her first orgasm with Sandor. She came so hard because she had tensed up, holding back almost till she was finally able to let go. Him sucking so intensely at her nipples had been glorious, and she feels them stiffen as if he’s truly near, not just in her thoughts. Then, he wanted to do it again right after she’d recovered, she smiles thinking of how wonderful it all was. He seemed so proud of himself, too.

Before that though, she was able to convince Sandor to let her take him in her mouth. One hand wrapped around his base, the other holding him steady, she had slowly tested sliding her mouth over him, sucking lightly. He had groaned and cursed and then she knew he would never protest again. She had learned to get rather good at this, partly just to get Joffrey off as fast as possible, not to mention all the advice in magazines, but she slowed down everything to taste him truly.

He was much larger and the thickness was tricky, but it was worth it to hear him continually saying _so good, little bird_ between every _fuck me_ and harsh groan. He sounded like such a man who was strong and tough and so deeply wanted her that it made her want him a thousand times more. This was even turning her on again, something that had never happened before. She tried to imagine what it will be like, him entering her, as she could feel his tentative thrusts, pushing to the back of her mouth as she sucked him.

She would break to take her tongue and drag it on the underside from the base back to the tip and tease with a lick of her tongue to his most sensitive spot. That would make his knees buckle slightly on the bed where he kneeled over her. Soon, his hand explored back down to touch her again. More curses at how wet she was while sucking him off and the gentle play against her clit made her desire for more of him ever greater, even if that was only satisfied with having him in her mouth for the moment, it was everything.

As he continued to circle her nub, spreading all her wetness, she began to moan as she pressed her lips around him, pulling up and down, feeling his veins and running over the softness of his tip. His groan sounded more like a yell as he lost control in her movements. His finger crept closer to her entrance, pressing in, making her whine in want against him, pulling harder, making him cum into her, streaming, as his finger pushed further inside. Releasing him, she let all of his offering slide down into her, swallowing, as he bent to kiss her, not caring if he tasted of himself.

“Oh little bird, you are too good to me,” he had spoken, and she had lost herself in his eyes as he continued to pleasure her.

“You’re off in la la land now,” Mya nudges her with a smile. “Thinking of what you’ll do tonight?”

Sansa gets a secret smile on her lips, “I hope so.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey girls :) You may have seen me working on some other fics, including a spanking one-shot (for annie_rose!) and another new story - all pretty different from this one, but I don't want to neglect Swearing Off Boys and am still hoping I sustain an update every two weeks, even if this one's earlier. Also, Lady Arianne is made up, I couldn't really pinpoint someone I wanted to use, so I settled on just that name. It's not an important detail. 
> 
> Comments are love!


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV: Saturday Morning with the Little Bird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting this out before Thanksgiving here in the states :) Love all of you readers! Thanks for the encouragement :)

Sandor can tell there’s something on her mind, busying herself around his house – practically her home, too, these days. He’s online with Arya and company, catching a raid on the weekend with his headphones on to keep the noise from bothering the little bird. She even studies here sometimes now, mostly for those blasted business classes she’s always going on about and how much her uncle thinks of her.

She’s not studying now though, and he realizes he should sign off and see what’s got her panties twisted… _and see if he can remove them_ , he smirks to himself.

“Needle, your sister needs my attention. I’m off, kill these fuckers on your own.”

“Gross,” she jokingly gasps before snarling, “Fine, bitch.” No room to talk smack with how crazy she is about this Gendry or whoever they play with.

“Out with it, little bird,” he sighs, sniffing as he pulls off his gear and turns off Nomad.

“You didn’t have to stop for me,” she meekly answers. Not responding, he looks into those deep blue eyes of hers that look so unsure and motions with his hand for her to come next to him. “Well, you did say you were going to teach me to play with you guys?” she ventures. _That can’t be it._

“Are you sure that’s what’s got you sweeping floors I did this morning while you were lazy in bed?” he raises a brow at her, before pulling her down into his lap from standing near him. Nothing like running his hands all over her to get her to open up sometimes. He kisses down her neck while he waits, murmuring against her, “So soft and warm,” with his nose in her hair.

“Sandor?” she pulls back and looks over at him so sweetly, that unsure look back, and he wishes he could have a drink for what may come next. “Yes, little bird,” he tells her, stilling his arms around her.

“It’s just,” she looks down, smoothing her hand over his arm, “I think I’m in love with you.” He freezes, his arms becoming stone around her, not knowing what to say or do with this new knowledge. He didn’t even think this could be what’s on her mind, more something to do with their play activities lately if anything. 

She looks up into his eyes from where she’s still touching his arm and opens that perfect mouth to say, “And,” then hesitates. _And, there’s more! Gods, he really needs a drink._

“And I want us to have, you know, for it to be with you when I loo---,” her statement dies on her lips, as he knows this subject is hard for her.

“For our first time,” he helps her, reacting, and that helps calm his nerves enough to pull her into him, pressing her to his chest. No one’s ever said anything like this to him. He can maybe remember his family telling him they loved him when he was a kid, but fuck, not a girl and not like this. If it ever got close before, he was gone. There’s even a voice now telling him to run, but he’s not letting go of his sweet, little bird, not after everything, even if she doesn’t know what she’s saying to a scarred, old dog like him. She’s too special, and he knows it would hurt her.

Sandor just holds her, rubbing his hands down her back and petting her silky, copper hair he loves. “You’re mine,” he finds he’s able to rasp that to her, and he can feel her shake slightly as she does when she cries a bit.

“You’re mine, too, right?” she pulls back to look up into his face, and she doesn’t even see his scars it feels like, just straight into his eyes she looks at him. Hers are glassy with unshed tears as she searches his.

“Yes,” he nods, convincing himself, too.

She smiles, happy at his answer at least, he could’ve screwed this up.

“So tonight?” he nuzzles against her as she moves to straddle him, but her movements tense.

“Tonight?” she laughs nervously, and he could bang his head against a wall for his stupidity.

“Sorry,” he goes ahead and mouths the word he used to never find any use for, girlfriends will put that in your vocabulary though for sure, he shakes his head.

Sansa sits back on his knee, her hands playing in the loose tendrils of his hair, “No, sorry, I just was thinking we could plan it, make it special. But it doesn’t have to be,” she’s talking herself out of it, _silly little bird, so pleasing. That’s a precious quality, he shouldn’t take advantage of it though._

“Little bird,” he stops her, “It will be special, you just let me know when and we’ll go on a date, right? Or something special.”

“Oh, Sandor, really?” she looks up at him so joyful, he immediately moves in to capture her lips in a kiss, moving his hands up her back to cradle her against him as he pulls her hair slightly, causing that little moan of hers as he opens her neck for a gentle bite. After he releases her, she looks back at him, eyes darkened and heavy-lidded just like he wants her. She presses her sweet kisses to his jaw, making her way back to his lips. Breaking from him, she suggests in a whisper that makes his cock twitch, “Maybe next weekend.”

He can’t hold back his smile, no matter how it pulls his scars to know she will be his completely so soon. He combs his hands though her long, luxurious red locks, fanning them out around her, he takes a deep breath to take in her lovely scent, telling her, “Sounds perfect.”

“I may have some shopping to do,” she smiles mischievously, making him run his hands up her sides, looking her over with want. _What surprises is she planning for him?_

Kissing her again, he pulls her completely against him with a gasp from his little girl, no doubt feeling what she does to him. He rasps into her ear, “You’re better than any fantasy or dream I could come up with.”

She whimpers, “Oh Sandor, please,” and that’s all she has to say, and he’s pulling off her sweater and little dress. Now in just her bra and panties he presses his nose along her soft spots, giving her kisses all over her belly as he grips her hips in his large hands, squeezing them with a hum. Laying her down on his couch, he stands to strip down to his underwear and then lowers himself over her, telling her “Such a good little bird to say please.”

As he’s pinning her, holding down her soft little arms, he presses his cock against her. Sansa sweetly whines, and he feels her position him right against her clit as her legs open and she begins to grind against him. She begins making little circles with her hips, her mouth opening up, and she looks him right in the eye. _Why couldn’t it be tonight?_ He’s dying to thrust inside her, wanting more than playing these games. _It’s what she wants,_ he reminds himself, as he moves to pin her legs down instead with his hands, making her keen loudly as he grinds against her while rising further up. He looks down on her, all creamy white with her back arched in pleasure pressing in him - makes him want her even more right now.

Sandor quickly pulls off her panties, leaving her cute knee-length socks, and then runs his hands back up her legs possessively, kneeling over her on his couch. Playing rougher with her, he jerks her legs open, grabbing her hips and dragging her under him for his feast. He can see her little heart beating at the excitement, her arms limp as her hair above her head that’s moving back and forth as she whimpers, “Oh Sandor,” again and again, like music to his soul. Never in his wildest dreams would she be this amazing.

“Mmm, little bird,” he murmurs in kind as he kisses up her inner thighs, able to now kiss her sweetest spot. Curling his hands around her soft, open thighs, holding them down, he begins tasting her, gently letting her get used to him as he laps at her juices already formed. He continues to lick her, hearing her little noises of pleasure at each circle of his tongue. He wants it to be a slow torture every time. He may have started rough, but it’s worth taking his time now to make her completely come undone for him. He wants her so dazed she’ll forget her own name, only know his.

Sandor continues his actions for several minutes, waiting for her sounds to get sweeter in their pleasure and her hips to begin to press against him in her desire, despite his heavy grip on them. He can tell she’s nearly there when he pulls back, feeling her body move in protest of its own volition, but he returns, not with his mouth, but with one of his long fingers, teasing her entrance before pushing into her, making her gasp and then whimper breathily. The inside of her is warm, wet goodness, and he finds that special part of her that’s particularly soft and soaked to his touch, which makes her moans deepen. “Please Sandor,” she pleads with him to continue with his mouth. He doesn’t make her wait any longer. Pressing his lips to her, eating her with his finger pumping inside her it is not much longer till she reaches her peak with heavy breaths and whimpers like such a sweet girl for him.

Sandor manages to sit, cradling her after his impromptu ministrations, giving her lips kisses as she comes back from bliss. This is his favorite, making her this way, giving her this moment. It doesn’t take long before his smiling, little bird is back with a pleased look on her face. She grows more beautiful daily from his attentions it appears. A little sheen of sweat on her brow adds a glow to her and with the wild spray of her hair, he must tell her, rasping against her skin, “So pretty, my little bird.” She throws her arms around him with a kiss, moving towards his pants with her curious hand, but he pushes her away, wanting to enjoy this time, he can wait till he’s more hard again. It’s just peaceful, giving to her, his princess, making her his like no other has.

“I think I will make tea, would you like some?” she politely asks.

“Pretty full on redbush at the moment,” he spanks her bottom as she gets up, making her yelp in surprise. _He could get used to that._

“Haha,” she mock laughs at him. Grabbing her panties, but he obstructs her from getting at her other clothes.

“What? Too much?” he asks, though he’ll never tire of thinking of her redbush, tea or not. “Let’s go ahead and get you started in Nomad,” he thinks since she did mention playing it. Switching back on his game system, Sandor goes ahead and make her an account and starts the introduction for her to make a character.

Sansa comes in, Tess following after her, “You want to play again?” and he can tell she’s displeased but trying to be nice. He laughs, “Starting it up for you, Sansa.”

“Oh, cool,” she smiles at him. He hands her the controller, “Now select your character, male or female, and a name.” She picks the girl and he helps her open the window for the name.

“Maybe I should name her after a bird?” Sansa wonders, getting into it, as she grabs her phone to search. “I guess swallow wouldn’t do for a name, huh?” she glances to him from his side.

He barks a laugh, “Please no, little bird.”

“I’m not stupid,” she nudges him. At least she picks up on things better now. His influence and that of her foul-mouthed sister no doubt.

“What about honeycreeper?” she feigns innocence, showing her the name on her phone. He chuckles, shaking his head at her game.

“I think I will choose Wren,” she decides.

“Nothing wrong with that,” he explains.

“Okay,” and she runs through her character creation, more like barely walk through it. He couldn’t believe how long it took someone to figure out eye color, tattoos, hair color, even was messing around changing the nose on her character.

“Very you,” he tells her in the end, though she chose super light blonde hair for some reason.

“Why don’t I get to pick my clothes?” she complains.

“You will get stuff during the game and change throughout based on what gear you have. You can even make stuff and dye it if you want later on.”

“Oh cool,” she answers, excited more about that part more than the killing no doubt.

Starting out, he helps her through the tutorial, and halfway through, Sansa exclaims, “I get to ride a horse!”

“Yes,” he laughs at her, earning him an elbow.

“I love this game,” Sansa states with a look of glee as she runs around in circles on her flowing white horse. “I’m going to call Arya,” she declares, grabbing her phone and putting it on speaker.

“Hello,” Arya answers, always sounding a little perturbed.

“Hey sis, it’s Sandor and me. Guess what?”

“What?” Arya replies disinterested.

“I’m playing Nomad. Oh, shit,” Sansa starts, and Sandor laughs as he grabs the controller before she ends up dead from some desert spider.

“It can be hard to fight on the horse, but worth it to learn,” he tells her, handing it back as she tries to complete her first quest.

“Sounds like you’re doing great, San,” Arya says jokingly, making Sandor laugh. Not sure how the little bird is going to fare, it will be awhile before she can play with them. She’s got to get her levels maxed out at least. He helps her with her first mission as she continues to ride around on her white horse with her flowing white hair. She takes to the bow alright, being able to aim when her horse stops.

“Excited to meet Lady Catelyn?” Arya directs to Sandor with a snort. “She will eat you alive. Get ready for your reckoning.”

“She’s not that bad,” Sansa interjects, rolling her eyes at her sister. “I’m sure she will like him when she gets to know him.”

“I’ve already met your lord father and survived,” Sandor defends.

“And we all know what that led to,” Arya titters, making him glance over at the little bird, who looks abashed. _She must’ve told Arya about his tirade against her and that following bender._ He sighs, remembering what a mess he was, how much he fucked up that time. _At least they’re here now._ He slips his arm around her little waist and pulls her against him, making Tess have to hop into Sansa’s lap from her place between them. He kisses the top of her head, rubbing down her arm, feeling how sweet she is to take him back after how much he hurt her. He finds the little scar on her arm from where she burned herself, rubbing over it with his thumb, and then he raises it up to his lips and gives it a kiss, looking over into her eyes.

“You’re making it hard for me to play,” she smiles, so adoringly. _How does he deserve this?_

"Guess I'll let you two go," Arya whines, hanging up.

"Bye Arya," Sansa sings, though too late. 

“Going to take you out. Get dressed,” he pushes up on her bottom, taking the controller to save her spot.

“But Sandor, next weekend we might,” she looks at him questioning. _Maybe he should tell her how well off he is sometime, at least for someone like him. Still not a lord._

“I know, but I want to take you somewhere for lunch. It's nothing,” he stops her. She smiles like a little princess and grabs her clothes from the floor where he tossed them and runs up the stairs to get ready. He’s always surprised and tucks away how even not having her in the room, how much he can still feel the loss of her. He’d be even more broken if something pushed them away again. This mother of hers is no match for his determination to keep his little bird, he assures himself.

 


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: First Time Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Part of chapter may be explicit for some readers.

“Deep breaths,” Sansa reminds herself as she sets out her dress for the evening and undergarments, she smiles to herself despite being so nervous. She hopes it’s not too much, she just wants everything to go perfect and to make Sandor happy. The dress is shorter and tighter than what she usually wears, but the green embroidery is lovely and matches the color of the set she picked out nervously.

Her phone buzzes and she answers, seeing her mother’s picture, “Mother?”

“Yes, my dear Sansa,” her mother replies with her ease of grace. “I’m calling to let you know I will be flying in around three Friday.”

“Okay, Sandor and I will be there to pick you up. Petyr mentioned having dinner, do you want to do it that night or Saturday?”

“Let’s get him out of the way Friday,” her mother replies, making her wonder what her mother means about Petyr.

“Too bad, Lysa can’t be there. I think she’s too sick. I haven’t seen her in forever,” Sansa adds.

“It would be good to see my sister,” her mother responds sparsely. “Is it okay I’m staying with you, Sansa?”

“Of course, I have a great couch, it will be better to have you close than in a hotel,” Sansa replies, though it _would_ be nice to stay with Sandor - knowing her mother, they would get caught. _No lady sleeps with a man she isn’t married to._

“Alright,” her mother relents.

“I’m so excited for you to meet Sandor. He’s taking me on a lovely date tonight,” she tries to radiate positivity to her mom. “I’ll send you a picture.”

“We will see,” her mother is tight-lipped on commenting on her boyfriend, preferring to hold her judgment, which is reasonable. Her mother continues, “Has he told you more about his family? What of these scars you showed me? Why does he have them?” Sansa wasn’t expecting these questions and knows if she can’t answer them, they will be put to Sandor soon.

“Mother, we haven’t gone into that part of his past yet,” she really has no explanation she would like to give her mother. It’s something that irks her as well.

“Won’t even discuss his family?” her mother sounds incredulous.

Sansa sighs, “I know, I’ll try to broach the subject,” _again,_ she wants to add.

“I hope so,” her mother sighs in turn. “School still going well? How is Lady Margaery?”

“Yes, I told you I don’t really talk to Margaery anymore, but other than that, I’m learning a lot. Petyr gave me extra reading to supplement my classes, so that’s been interesting, too.”

“I’m worried you aren’t making enough female friends. Maybe Arya should go there next year,” her mother suggests.

“It’s alright, Mom. I have Mya, at least, and I can talk to Jeyne, plus between Petyr and Sandor, I don’t have that much free time,” she tries to reassure her.

“You spend that much time with your uncle?” Lady Catelyn questions, sounding baffled.

“I’m in two of his classes. I might be doing a summer internship with him, remember?” Sansa explains.

“Yes, I remember you saying something like that. Hmm,” her mother considers.

“Anyways, Arya will do the opposite of whatever you tell her,” Sansa states this fact. She’d love to have her sister here, too, but Arya would end up doing her own thing ad never see her or drive her crazy. Both likely.

“Yes,” her mother sounds disappointed. “Will talk to you again this week and let you know if anything changes.”

“Okay, Mother, Love you. Can’t wait to see you!” she sings to her mom.

“Love you, too, can’t wait to see my beautiful girl. Bye, Sansa,” her mother echoes.

* * *

 

“Let me have her take our picture,” she pulls out her phone, getting the hostess’s attention.

“Little bird, not now, we just got here,” he quietly grumbles, the tension in this subject heavy between them. _Will he ever get used to photographs?_

“Please, please, please, Sandor, it’s our special night. Just one picture for me. You don’t even have to see it,” she pleads with him. Sansa couldn’t believe it when he showed up on her doorstep all dressed in his best military uniform and all for her. She could have fainted at the sight of him, her heart somehow beat even faster than it had already been from her nervous anticipation. It was so special, and he hadn’t even told her. She had been so worried she was going to be overdressed, but he even made her feel underdressed. He was so handsome that she wished she could put back on the dress she wore for the New Year’s ball.

It was so much like their first date. Sandor barely noticed her infatuation so focused was he on taking in every inch of her. His hands softly roamed over her hair and dress as he rasped how beautiful she was, too beautiful for him as he always points out. She gushed over him, making him almost uncomfortable, wanting to see every medal and pin. She never wants him out of this uniform she told him, but in response he quipped how he will definitely be getting out of it tonight while playing with the hem of her dress. After Sandor kissed her for a solid minute, Sansa pressed kisses across his unscarred cheek to whisper in his ear, “and I’m even green underneath.” It made her giddy to flirt so, and she earned a bite to her neck in response.

“So tempting,” he spoke as he stood up tall, looking over her, his hands going up into her hair from the back of her neck and lightly pulling on it. She could melt into a puddle right there, looking up at him, so handsome in his dress uniform and feeling her body react to his touch. Somehow she found the words, “We better go or we’ll skip dinner.” In response, he smirked at her, that favorite expression, and it made her close the distance he had put between them, reaching up for him, and he met her in another kiss. “I’m afraid you’re right,” he lightly chuckled, pulling away and punishing her with that smirk of his again.

Still, in the restaurant some of that bravado of his has been reigned in by his typical scowling guise he shows the world. The hostess takes her phone with an odd expression, questioning, “You and him?” Sansa politely answers, “Yes,” the big smile on her face unable to control, not that she would want to. She’s so happy to be here, with Sandor, and for this special time together. The hostess nods okay, seeming to wrap her head around it and find it cool. She even gets into it, positioning them at a nice part of the entrance with good lighting.

She elbows Sandor for scowling, whispering to him, “At least try to smirk, try to imagine what things I may have on underneath,” she reminds him, and like a gentleman he holds out his arm to her to which she wraps her own around, beaming at the hostess to capture them. He shifts to wrap his arm around her back, and she can feel him trying to determine what she has on, telling her, “I’m sure you’ll see me more than smirk later.” It actually makes her flush slightly, her head tilted back to look up into his eyes, and she’s surprised to feel his sudden descent to kiss her, even pulling her flush against him. The kiss is over just as fast, but she’s left breathless, staring up at him. She can barely register the hostess handing her back her phone with a smile and telling them their reservation is ready.

“Got enough pictures to last awhile now,” he spouts, though harmless, and holds his hand out to escort her. She’s happy he’s willing to do things like this for her, even if it grates against his personal code.

Sitting down, Sandor has a peculiar look on his face, and a very amused light in his eyes. She can’t help but ask him, “What is it, Sandor, my love?” reaching across the table for his hand.

He obliges her with a grin, answering, “You really love this, don’t you? This is special for you.”

“Isn’t it for you?” she wonders.

“Yeah, but only because of you,” he tells her as if that’s not the sweetest thing a man could say. “Champagne for the lady,” he tells the waitress as she comes by.

“You’re so sweet, this wouldn’t nearly be as special without you either,” she replies, beaming at him with her head cocked to the side and feeling like all is right in the world. There’s no way her mother couldn’t love this man. She adores him like no other. Remembering that, she fishes out her phone to send one of the pictures to her mom to show him off in his dress uniform.

The expense of the place he’s brought her to hits her as she opens the menu, _this must be the nicest restaurant in Maidenpool._ “Sandor, you must split the cost with me, I hate for you to have to go to all this at your own expense,” she feels she must tell him but regrets it immediately by the look that washes over his face.

He sighs, and she can see the agitation written all over him. “I know you think I can’t afford to do nice, even expensive things for you, but I can, Sansa. What do I have to do, show you my bank account? My net worth? It’s not like my family was nothing.”

“I’m sorry I brought it up. I just don’t want to be a burden,” she implores, trying to make him understand. She doesn’t want him to think she expects the most expensive, best thing there is, the old café would’ve been fine for tonight, too, and he could’ve eaten all the chicken he wanted. Still, how can she know about his family, if he won’t tell her? …but she doesn’t want to completely ruin tonight by bringing that up.

“I want you to be happy, and I wanted tonight to be special for you. That’s why we’re here, that’s why I’m in the best thing I probably own,” he states matter-of-fact.

“Oh, it’s so special, Sandor,” she speaks from her heart, her emotions rising, “so special,” feeling a little bittersweet tear crawl out of her eye that she catches with her napkin.

“Oh, little bird, it’s alright,” his smirk returns slightly, his hand bopping hers on the table with a slight squeeze to comfort her. Her champagne arrives, and he toasts her with his water glass, making her swell with happiness once more.

Both of them eat lighter than normal, especially her, all the rich food is almost a waste on her nervous stomach. She could barely taste and savor it when her mind is focused on the man across from her. At the close of their meal, Sandor holds his hand out for hers again and with a hint of a smile asks, “Nervous, little bird?”

“Oh yes,” she smiles up into his eyes, wanting to stay there looking into those slate gray eyes that must love her. They feel like they do even if he doesn’t say it.

“It will be like normal, just more,” he rubs her hand, and the fact he’s trying to calm her is so endearing, it makes her feel all the more ready.

Getting back to his place, Sansa kicks off the high heels, ducking from Sandor to run up the stairs to his room, feeling playful from all the nervous excitement. “Making me chase after you, girl, you’ll pay for that,” she hears him behind her, scrambling up the stairs.

When he gets in the room, he pulls her dress right over her head and picks her up, one hand under her legs, the other around the small of her back. She squeals, his hands surprisingly cold from the brisk night air, and then yelps as he tosses her right on the bed with a bounce.

“You stay right there,” he directs her, and a little thrill shoots through her at his instruction. She really likes doing what he tells her to, savoring any little request, and her legs shift side to side waiting for his attentions to commence. He’s undoing all the buttons on his dress uniform, with his eyes trained on her form, like it’s his mission for the night. His gaze is heating her up while she watches him efficiently remove each closure, sliding off his jacket, then his undershirt, his polished shoes and his pants, even tossing off his underwear to her surprise. She even gasped when he pulled them off for he doesn’t usually put it out there for her like this.

Her eyes rise to see him grinning at her, his breaths coming heavier. “Not still afraid of him are you?” his grin turns wicked, causing her to give a little pout to jest with her so. In this position, with her head near him and almost off the bed, a thought comes to her, and she moves towards him a little more, opening her mouth to see if he understands, arching her neck back. Keeping his gaze, his eyes darken, and she can tell this is no game for him anymore. She feels pinpricks all over her skin at how much he wants her, but then his eyes cloud with uncertainty.

“Please just a little bit,” she tells him, and he comes toward her, his cock level with her mouth, which she opens a little more to take him. When his cock touches her lips, she hears him groan, his hands fist in her periphery. She coaxes him in with her tongue, pressing against his shaft with her lips, beginning to suck. Sandor curses, _fuck, fuck,_ at her actions. His hands that were fisted at either side move to cup her breasts still in her satin green bra, fondling her. His fingers brush her nipples, lightly pinching them and making her mind whirl, and the pleasure makes her hum against his cock in her mouth. Somehow she feels like she can fit more of him in this position, and she extends out to get as much of him as possible. “Ohh, ohh” she hears him sounding like he could buckle from the pleasure she’s giving him, his hands squeezing her breasts almost painfully. He begins sliding in and out of her, along her tongue, but soon stops, pulling out, telling himself, “Not like this.”

Coming around he climbs on top of her, his elbows on either side, she can feel his chest hair tease her skin, making her want to press her body against him. He pulls her down under him, so her head isn’t off the bed and threads his hands into her hair, cupping her head. “You’re beautiful, you know that, and you’re amazing and so special to me.” Though his words warm her heart, she only nods, wishing he would say he loved her, too, feeling like she can’t say it because it will only draw attention to his lack.

Sitting up, Sandor smoothes his fingers lightly down the straps of her bra, the left one, then the right one, then glosses them around the band to run over the top of the cup, making her heave at how delicate but seductive his touch is. Each button on the center of her bra is felt before he kisses her skin above and then kisses along the top of the other cup. She had no idea he would pay so much attention to her attempt at lingerie, but it makes her heady with need of him, wanting to be his special girl if this is how it feels to be so worshipped.

He looks up into her eyes, his deep voice rumbling over her, “I like that you wore all this for me, so special.” His fingers trace around the band to unclasp the back. He gently removes it from her, setting his attention to each nipple he has exposed and taking each breast of hers in his large, calloused hands, lightly squeezing. Her back is arching up into his lips as her breaths come shallow, and she unabashedly whines for more as he attends to them for quite awhile. “That’s it, little bird, sing me your sweet songs,” he looks up at her face, his lips deeply colored from sucking her. Watching her, he teases her nipple just to see her writhe and whimper, her eyes closing in pleasure.

Sandor moves down her belly pressing kisses until he reaches her panties. He kisses along the top edge but his dominant hand seeks a less innocent purpose as it traces around one leg and down to her pussy, stroking it over her satiny panties. It’s a sweet torture feeling this light touch. To think that would’ve been too much once makes her almost laugh at how much more she wants from him now. His finger moves to trace around her other leg and he begins yanking them off, his sudden movement making her heart race. She loves it when he surprises her.

As he slips her panties off her ankles, she sits up to catch his eye and begs, breathless, “Sandor, please, I need you.” He grabs his cock, giving it a few pumps with his hand, “You sure you need this?” he smirks at her. “Yes, I do,” and she swings her legs around to face him, climbing on top of him, he relents laying under her as she grinds against him, feeling all her wetness cover him and his hard cock so wonderfully against her clit. “Hold on, little bird,” she hears him huff a laugh underneath her as his long arm searches out the top drawer of his nightstand. He sits up, her still on his chest, and motions for her to move as he pulls out a condom and slips it on. _Oh, that,_ she feels like an idiot.

“Do you want to keep doing this?” he asks her lying back down to see if she wants to start on top, but the reality of what is happening hits her and that bundle of nerves is back.

 “I’m not sure,” she manages to verbalize. Sandor appears to understand her inner conflict as he lies over on his side, pulling her to him, stroking her hair and back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter grew long so I split it into two parts to be consistent with the story, please continue reading in next chapter. Hope you're enjoying it!!!


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: First Time Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Chapter may be explicit for some readers.

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” Sandor tries to pacify her as he continues to stroke her hair and back. He does take some pressure off, but she wants this tonight. They’re already naked, and everything has been so special. She looks up into his gray eyes, watching hers, insisting, “I want to.” He nods, beginning to kiss her, building up in his passion for her. He positions his cock between her legs, sliding right along her clit but not going in, as they slowly meld together. She loves the feeling of his lips on hers and his cock close to her and all of their skin together. She wants to be a mess of limbs where she doesn’t know where she ends and he begins. His hands rove down her back, one coming up to cup her breast, his mouth going down to suck the other one. His other hand finds her bottom, cupping it and beginning to massage it, feeling glorious to her. With little whimpers at his attentions, she starts to feel whatever had tightened up loosen again under his hands.

Sansa’s hands explore his chest before running into his hair, and he kisses up her chest and neck. He finds her lips again, pulling at them eagerly, filling her with want even more as he covers her mouth with his and her eyes slowly close again. She loves the woodsy, dark smell of him that fills her in his presence, the perfect feel of his mouth on hers and the vibrations he sends through her with his deep, pleased hums as he moves over her body. She feels his cock grind against her with slow movements and only go in her a little bit, and she lets herself get used to that before pushing back.

When Sandor feels her start to push more against him, he lays her on her back, kissing down her body. His hand reaches down to feel her, spreading her wetness in circles around her most sensitive spot. She breathes heavily, her legs falling completely open for him as she enjoys the mounting pleasure wash over her. He continues to play with her, kissing her deeply, and her hands find his cock to wrap around his shaft and move up and down, pleasing him.

Ready, Sandor kneels between her legs, his strong, beautiful arms on either side of her. She feels herself seize up a little as his cock comes towards her entrance, but he assures her, “Relax, it will be okay,” and she tries to take deep breaths. His hand returns to her clit as she feels the pressure of him right at her entrance, he moves shallowly in and out, making her mouth open and her whimpers turn to moans as he stretches her more with each thrust. She loved the feeling of his finger in her before, but this, this is so much more and she starts to try and move with him, arching her back to beckon him further, “You feel so good,” she utters between her heavy breaths.

In return, Sandor rasps to her with each thrust, his hair falling down around her, “Sansa, so warm, so tight around my cock, such a good girl,” ending with a sharper thrust deeper into her, making her burst into a high-pitched moan. He slows down, his arms edging towards her, “You okay, little bird?” She nods at him, then looks down where he begins thrusting in her more, mesmerized by the power of his body, pushing and pulling. Sansa thinks she’s okay, but images start to enter her mind that won’t go away. She scrunches her eyes closed trying to dissolve the images of what they did to her, but it’s no use and she wants to scream and crawl up into a little ball at the sudden assault to her senses, only to lay there frozen.

She hears Sandor calling to her, but she feels trapped like she’s encased in darkness. His words start to make it through, “Little bird, come back to me, open your eyes.” She tries to open them and breaks through. First, she notices he’s so close to her, still in her and on his elbows, his forearms cradling her. “Look at me,” he instructs and when her eyes find his, it’s relief, all the negative emotions fall away, and she lets the warmth and softness she sees in his eyes envelope her like the rest of his body.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks her, and as much as she kind of does, she really wants this tonight, to do this and not let what happened to her hold her back. “No, please don’t stop,” she tells him, and he looks surprised that she would still want this. She kisses him, stretching her arms around his neck, and he starts to kiss her again, pulling her into his thrusts with his arms around her. She finds herself falling again so she opens her eyes to see his watching her, “Look at me,” he repeats. Her refuge is right there in his gray eyes that make her feel so safe and wanted.

His eyes locked on hers, he slowly moves out and back in again, hitting some pleasure point in her, she feels her mouth fall open. He releases back again and pushes in her a little further, making her breath come heavy and audible from her lips. With his arms cradling her to him and his eyes locked on hers intently, he makes her feel so precious. As he draws back again she’s there to meet him, squeezing around him, pulling him into her warmth with a whimper on her lips at the pleasing ache. The look in his eyes, so pleased, is all the satisfaction she needs as she moves her body with his, tangled in his embrace, and her whimpers turn to moans again as he completely fills her.

The quickening of his thrusts deep inside her make her moans come harder, reaching a high pitch as he continues to fuck her in a fluid motion. “That’s my good girl,” he tells her as her moan makes her close her eyes for a split second to savor it. He pulls her torso with him when he thrusts, releasing her and then repeating the motion over and over. She keeps her eyes on his, feeling closer to him than ever before, this is intimacy she thinks as she lets every wave of him wash over her, filling her with a warm pleasure different than before, not as immediate but deeply fulfilling.

Now that he’s inside her it feels so right, so necessary to have him be a part of her and to have his attention so focused on her, she starts to lose herself in his movements, wrapping her legs around him and trying to magnify the feel of him in her. Sandor has a hard time focusing on her as his groans become stronger, his hands tense against her back, though he manages to keep his eyes trained on her face. He instructs, “Such a good girl, tell me, little bird.”

Slightly confused, she gets out between her consuming breaths, “I’m a good girl for you,” making him let out a long, pleased groan as he fucks her even harder. Losing more of herself into him, she next adds, “I love you,” on exhale, still looking up into his gray eyes as her lifeline. She feels him pull on her body harder as he thrusts, making her feel like he could tear her apart, but she loves being on this edge with him.

“Again,” he instructs her, and giving over to him, she breathes out, “I love you, Sandor, I love you, I love you,” feeling herself surrender to his body as it uses her up. His thrusts suddenly jerk as his groan is drawn out and uneven and his eyes waver to close. He squeezes her tightly as the pumping of his hips lessens to a halt, and he rolls over, pulling her on top of him. He’s still half in her, but she savors still the closeness and the little victory she feels when he comes for her. Her arms wrap around his neck as she rises with the deep breathing of his chest and he evens back out. She nuzzles into the hair on his chest that she is starting to adore, just like every part of him. Wrapping his arms around her, he rasps, “My sweet little bird,” with a tightening of his embrace, kissing the top of her head.

After a minute of lying there together, he pats her side, indicating he’s getting up, but she’s scared to let go of him. He gently slides her off of him as he stalks to the bathroom. Somewhere she had read you had to pee after sex, so she gets the edge of the bed sitting up, and there’s that dizzy, warm feeling again that she wants to melt into, but it does make standing hard.

“What are you doing?” he asks her when he reenters the room, and she explains, “I read I’m supposed to pee after.”

“Oh yeah, some girls do that,” he responds, and it makes her clinch up inside, choking the breath out of her, that he would remind her of other lovers at a time like this. She falters slightly, and he’s there to help her but she seizes up more at his touch. _How can she feel so removed from him after feeling so close?_ “I’m fine,” she snips as he lets go, and she makes her way to the bathroom.

She sits in there, not even having to pee but forces a bit. However, it’s as if she can’t get up now, she’s paralyzed, not understanding all the intensity of what their union was for her and it scares her. “Was it the same for him?” is the question that's pestering her. Then, her conversation with her mother comes back to her, and how much he still doesn’t tell her things. _And she’s told him everything almost!_ The tears start pouring then, and her chest is shaking as it caves in from the rush of emotions.

She doesn’t know how long she’s in there, minutes perhaps, but then she hears a slight knock on the door and it’s opening slightly with Sandor’s curious and concerned face, “Little bird?” When he sees she’s sobbing, he comes toward her, getting down on his knees in front of her.

“What is it? I knew I should’ve stopped. I thought you wanted it,” he appears to be beating himself up inside about it. She doesn’t even know how to explain her emotions to him though because she barely understands this reaction herself. _Maybe she should have stopped?_ But then again, she needed to do this and so much has been tied into what happened to her that she was bound to have a strong reaction, she reasons, despite the tears still flowing from her face.

“Can I take you back into the bedroom?” he ventures, and she looks up into those eyes of his that look almost scared and nods to him. He scoops her up and lays her back on the bed, taking his place beside her and lowering a soft sheet over them. The coverage makes her comfort increase to not be still so bare to him.

“Sorry,” she verbalizes because it feels like she’s ruining everything to cry after sex, especially like this. “No, little bird,” he stops her apology, “don’t be sorry, just tell me what’s wrong.” He moves to kiss her forehead, but she pulls back from his embrace, staying silent while she tries to organize her feelings to speak them.

“Have you been going to your therapist?” he distracts her process, and she shakes her head no, to which he sighs.

“You need to be able to talk through some of this with her,” he stresses, using his hands on either side of her to press his point.

“I know, but she’s not that helpful,” Sansa makes up an excuse for discontinuing therapy. She didn’t really know what she wanted to talk about next time and had put it off after break since everything’s fine really.

“Well, then, hell, come talk to Elder Brother. He can’t not help you, trust me,” Sandor encourages her.

“Maybe we can see him together?” she considers.

“Possibly, up to him,” Sandor relates. “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours though. I don’t want you getting upset like this. Did you not like the sex?” He trails the back of his hand across her cheek and down, looking her over with such sweet longing. The way he looks at her makes her feel like the most special girl to him that it hurts that she doesn’t feel that way.

Deciding to open up to him, even it hurts her more, she explains, “I just don’t like to think of how many other girls you’ve been with. It makes me feel less special.” He tries to start talking, but she puts her hand on his lips to stop him so he kisses them instead. “Also,” she starts to feel that caving in of her chest but manages to ramble the rest out, “I love you, I don’t know why you can’t say it to me or why you can’t tell me anything about your family or your scars and I know my mother expects me to know and thinks less of us for me not knowing. And I hate it,” she pushes back on his chest for emphasis, crying, “I really hate it,” pushing again as she trembles. Looking back up into his face, he looks so shaken, like she’s gone too far and pushed him away, which makes her chest empty even more that she wraps herself up in the sheet and distances herself.

“Sansa,” Sandor emphasizes her name but seems at a loss for where to begin _or end as it may be_ , so she scrunches her eyes shut, trying to hide. “Look at me, little bird, you know that I do…love you,” he seems to barely get out. “I’m not used to that word, okay? You said it to me, and you’re the first person to really say that since my mom I guess when I was a kid.” She knows she should be more understanding, but it still hurts that he doesn’t want to say it to her.

She peeks from her cocoon of sheet, “You love me?” with sad eyes.

“Yes, I love you,” he moves to wrap his arms around her, and she lets him. Then, he sits up against the headboard, pulling her against his side as he takes a deep breath.

“I haven’t told you about my family because it’s not something I talk about, not even to Elder Brother.” He looks down at her for a moment with his brow raised in seriousness before continuing, “He knows who my older brother is though, he’s the only one alive and he’s rotting in a Dornish prison for life. My brother is…” he shakes his head, sighing, “he did this to me, Sansa,” he points to his burned face, making her gasp.

“Your brother? No,” she reacts.

“Yes, he’s the one that burned me, intentionally I might add. Not worth going into.” She gulps, then settles closer to him, distressed to know he suffered such abuse. He continues drawing out his history, “My mother died from a sickness when I was young, but I remember her, a sweet woman. My father was a cold man, he died from an accident with my brother when I was about fourteen.”

Empathetic, she looks up into his eyes that look tired, “What were their names, your parents?”

“Edmor and Alyce,” he replies, brushing through her hair, his eyes trained on it not her.

“Lovely names,” she smiles to him, moving up under his arm next to him.

“Yeah, I petitioned after my brother was incarcerated to have the Clegane land ceded to me,” he mentions nonchalant.

“What? You have land? Where? Why haven’t you told me?” she wasn't expecting this exciting development.

“Calm down, little bird,” he finds it in him to smirk down at her. “It’s mostly farming and forest preserve over in the Westerlands. I have yet to go out there, haven’t been there since my dad died.”

“Wow, that’s a really long time,” she looks at him wide-eyed, wishing she could relate more but it’s such a tragedy.

“Thought of selling it, just thought I’d check it out first but haven’t gotten around to it,” he communicates.

“I imagine it will be hard, going there,” she tries to relate.

He shrugs, taking a deep breath - _that must be all of it_.

“Not so hard to talk to me, is it, baby?” She climbs in his lap, moving to kiss his face. He smirks, pressing his lips against hers. He then asks, “You’re sure that’s it, you aren’t upset about the sex? What happened when I lost you?”

“No, it was wonderful, I felt so close to you that it was overwhelming when it was over almost, if that makes sense,” she tries to communicate, “I think I had a flashback or something. It was upsetting, but I was worried if I stopped, I would have even more fear next time.”

“That’s smart, little bird, I hope it just gets better,” he nuzzles down to her collarbone nibbling it.

“Me too,” she heats up a little, repositioning herself, she looks up at him, worried for her next question. “What can I tell my mother?” she voices.

“I’ll handle it, little bird. Not afraid of your mother, or your father for that matter. You’re mine and nothing they say will change that,” he states so sure it makes her heart flutter.

“Oh Sandor, I hope so,” she burrows herself against him with a yawn, making him follow suit. He holds her like this, rubbing down her shoulder and arm, stroking her hair as they let the quiet comfort them and get ready for sleep.

 


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV: Quiet Isle

"Your mother will be staying with you the whole time," Sandor complains as he drives them out to the Quiet Isle.

"I know, but it's just two nights," she rests her head on his shoulder. He'd been able to take her again that week, but overall, she'd been unresponsive sexually, still not over their first time. He hopes the Elder Brother can help considering he's out of his depth. She's still so sweet and pleasing, but he wants her to have some of that energy she had before that made her really need him. 

Pulling into the isle, he gives them Sansa's visitor pass and takes them over to the brother's cottage. 

"Lady Sansa, so lovely to see you," the Elder Brother takes his little bird's hand. 

"You as well, Elder Brother," she sweetly answers and they sit for tea, Sansa loving it, he can tell. She's so much more social than him, always meeting friends and wanting to be out in the world. _Easier when the world adores your pretty face._ Something's got his mood sour, he snorts, breaking into their pleasantries, "Sansa wanted to know if we could have therapy together."

"It would be better separately," the brother decides. "My lady, would you mind staying and finishing your tea while I talk with Sandor first.” 

"No, of course I wouldn’t," she obliges predictably.

Sitting in his office and knowing Sansa's right there, it's harder to talk than normal. "How are things with Sansa?" The brother asks.

_Fuck it, he'll just jump in_ , "She's not going to tell you, but we had sex for the first time last Saturday. Not that we hadn't been building up to it," he grins at the man. 

"And how does that make you feel?" The brother asks, which strikes him as odd.

"Happy, of course. A strange thing happened though and is why I brought her along today as she's stopped seeing her therapist." The brother's eyes narrow as he tries to follow. Sandor continues, "Her eyes closed up tight and she went limp underneath me out of nowhere. I got her back to focus on me and she wanted to continue. But after everything she went in the bathroom and cried. She said she had a flashback and was upset about not knowing about my family and stuff, too. So I told her everything I guess."

"I see, I will try to discuss this with her, but just continue to openly communicate and be patient with her," he encourages.

"I'm trying, it's hard," Sandor sighs.

"Have you discussed the potential surgery with Sansa?" the brother inquires. 

"No, not interested right now," he sighs, running his hand through his hair.

"You can just see the doctor, you seemed interested before," Elder Brother challenges.

"Okay, I'll go see her, set it up." He okays. 

"How else are things going with Sansa? Do you have any questions?" the Elder Brother asks.

"Good, better, I've learned to say fucking sorry sometimes, but she's gotten into this love word and she seems to expect me to say it back. I did, but…" he trails off.

"That is fairly typical Sandor," the brother gives him a serious look.

"It's not easy. I still think she's going to leave when school's over for her, especially as her parents are not too keen on me, but I want her to stay mine. I want to do it right. I guess I don't know what comes next, and it causes a rift with her when I miss something,” he takes a deep breath, having to say all that.

"A lot can happen between now and then. You should work on building better communication and just being together for awhile. Eventually, if you want to stay with her, consider asking her to marry you, that will help you two determine what your relationship after her college will be like."

"Now that she's mine, I intend to keep her. She's so sweet," he's surprised to hear himself want to go on about his little bird, seeing the Elder Brother smile at him. He clears his throat back to a more serious topic, "Will be meeting the mother Friday. I've decided to give an account of my family to her and do what I can to make it right. I want to make it known to her father as well."

"That is smart, the less hiding of the truth, the stronger you are," Elder Brother nods to him. "Remember to control your temper with the mother and be patient. The mother is the key to turning the father around. Be even more a gentleman to the mother as you've been to Sansa, open the door, pull out the chair, and see to her comfort. If you care for her, she knows you care deeply for her daughter. Do not hesitate to call me if you need help. Also, make sure to address her according to her rank, unless she says otherwise."

It's got him sweating just thinking about the task ahead. "Thank you, brother, I think I can do all of that."

"Alright, let me talk to the girl, and before I forget a letter came for you. How are the dogs coming along?" He hands him the thick letter, _that's odd_.

"Good, good. Tess is about at six months so she's in a good place, another few intensive months and she'll be ready. Crow's alright," he updates before heading out for Sansa. "I'll be back in an hour," he leans down to kiss her before heading out, shrugging his jacket on.

Outside he sits down by the water, thinking how simple and peaceful nature can be, yet he's got to come and talk all this out with the Elder Brother. He was just like this inlet, so unmoved before Sansa jumped in. Maybe it'll calm eventually to where they're like the still waters together. He just wants a simple life - his girl, dogs, a little house and property. _Sounds pretty good._

He tears into this letter the brother handed him and is unsettled by what he reads. There in plain writing is an offer to train not dogs but soldiers like himself near his property in the Westerlands. Something about it makes his blood stop in his veins, _it's too perfect_. He shuffles through the papers to where the salary is spelled out, and hells, if it's not double what he makes now. This would be full-time, and he's to report to the base in a month. _Seven hells_ , he curses, his mind spinning at what this could mean. There he was wanting a life as still as the waters before him, and another stone has to be thrown. _Where the hell did this stone come from?_ is the unsettling question.

He pulls out his phone to get Jaime on the line, he's the only one he could imagine being able to pull something like this, but he also wouldn't have done it without asking. "Hound?" He hears the Lannister's voice. 

"Aye, the very one," he smirks, doesn't hear that as much these days, now it's Sandor from her sweet lips. 

"To what do I owe the honor?" Jaime replies, facetious.

"Got a letter here assigning me to a post at the Cornfield base for training soldiers. You heard anything about this?" Sandor gets to the point.

"No, didn't know you were looking for a transfer. Things go wrong with the lady?" Jaime loves to find buttons to push.

"No, she's my girlfriend," he explains, weird to use that word. 

"Well, we should celebrate. Brienne would love to see you, especially with the lovely Lady Sansa."

He rolls his eyes, _this isn't explaining anything_. "This letter just showed up for me at the Quiet Isle. If the Elder Brother knew, he'd have said something. Just strange."

"Sounds good for you though, that's near the old estate, right?" Jaime responds in earnest.

"Yes, it is, Jaime, and not many people know about that. Hells, I just told Sansa,” he considers the possibilities.

"I don't know what to tell ya, Hound, good luck," Jaime responds.

"Alright, bye," he hangs up, still not sure what to think of the offer. He takes a walk around the isle to clear his mind before heading back to the Elder Brother's cottage. Knocking on the office door, he enters to see Sansa with tears running down her face. She stands, crying, "Sandor," and comes straight into his arms where he just holds her, rubbing down her back to soothe her. He looks around till he finds the old man's eyes, who nods to him with a sympathetic smile. 

He waves a hand to the old man and takes her out to the lake, bundling her on his lap to keep from the chill of the winter’s day. He lets the stillness around them seep into her as he stays quiet, the sun on them keeping the cold at bay.

“It’s beautiful here,” she finally voices, a sadness to her tone, much like his own thoughts earlier.

"You want to talk about it?" he ventures, wanting to know everything.

"He said it should get easier. I explained to him about Joffrey, but there was another time with him. There were others, and I remember bits of it. It was very vivid the other night, and it's really bothered me," she huddles against him. "When I look at you though, it goes away. I don't even think about what I am, or was actually now, like I did everyday it seemed like.” He burns knowing there’s more to her past, but he’s also having a hard time following.

“What do you mean everyday?” he starts somewhere.

“Like I would be reminded sometime everyday about how I wasn’t really a virgin, and how that had been taken from me. Now I just think of you,” she looks up at him with those forlorn blue eyes, her suffering plain.

“I can understand that. You make these not bear thought,” he motions to his scarred half, watching a tremulous smile break on her face. Still, his mind churns with this information she provides, trying to piece it together with what he already knows.

“I thought you were unconscious though. How do you know these things? Do you have memories?” His concern clear.

His eyes trained on her he sees her swallow, gathering her courage likely, “Elder Brother said a part of my brain may remember, even if I was unconscious, and that it can come back to me, like it did. Still,” she tenses next to him and starts shaking like a sob but with no tears, her mouth open but nothing being spoken. Finally, she voices, “I didn’t tell Elder Brother, but I know it happened because there was a video. Gods, I only found out because of that video.” She starts sobbing in a little ball on his lap.

“Sansa,” his hands tighten around her, distress consuming him.

He barely makes out her continued mumbling, “It wasn’t even until the end of the semester, and I had blacked out so many times. I thought it was normal. Everyone was doing it. I need my sister.”

“Arya?” he asks, confused, still not able to respond to what he now knows.

“Yeah,” she looks at him like she forgot where she was and fishes out her phone.

“Arya?” she repeats, trying to get Arya on the line.

“What is it, San?” he can overhear.

“The video is gone, right?” Sansa sounds desperate.

“I couldn’t delete the original. I’m sorry, San, he still has it. I got it off the web though,” her sister tries to sound optimistic. His rage soars. _That fucker._

“Okay,” he hears Sansa’s sad, defeated response. _She should’ve never been subjected to this._

“Are you okay? Is Sandor there?” Arya asks her sister, sounding worried.

“Yeah, he’s here. I’ll be fine,” Sansa answers falling against his chest. He takes the phone out of her hand.

“Arya,” he barks, “what the fuck is going on?” His anger having to come out somewhere.

Arya just pushes back, “Don’t start yelling at me, I’ve done what I can. Probably should check on it again, make sure he hasn’t reposted it. Whatever you do, do not watch the video.”

“Like I’m going to fucking watch it, I want it gone,” he heats up even more.

“Okay, dude, a friend of Sansa’s in Joff’s brotherhood had found out and showed Sansa the video, that’s why things ended with Joffrey. Even though he acted like he didn’t know someone was filming him and his friends, yeah right,” she ends sarcastic. “I would need access to his computer to make sure it is deleted, but..."

“Then that is what we will do,” he jumps in. _Can’t believe the nerve of this fucker._

“Okay, sure illegal activities are great and all, but…we better plan the hell out of that shit.” Arya laughs nervously.

“Then get on it, little brat,” he’s still in as foul a mood as hell as he closes the call. Sansa’s just limp against him. He can understand her not wanting to tell him all of that really, though he wishes she had. “Why didn’t you tell me before, little bird?” he nudges her, making her look up at him.

She looks completely exhausted _,_ her eyes red, so he doesn’t press her. “Come on, little bird,” he gets her up and walks with her back to the truck to get back home. He’ll be back in the morning for training with the dogs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love! Catelyn POV next!


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn POV: Meeting Sandor and Their Dinner with Petyr!

Stepping out from the secured area of the little Maidenpool airport, Catelyn sees her beautiful daughter, a smiling face with light in her eyes looking for her. The brightness only dimmed by the shadow cast by her very tall and broad "boyfriend." What a man to enter her Sansa's good graces, Catelyn grimaces. The scars she couldn't prepare herself for despite the pictures Sansa had shown her. He doesn't look kind, agitation shaping his demeanor, and his eyes, much like her husband's she admits, keep steady on her, expressionless except the defiance inherent. 

So focused, she is startled by Sansa's sudden embrace and sweet refrain, "Mother!" Then she grabs her hand and holding Sandor's in her other, beams, "This is Sandor." 

"Lady Catelyn," he addresses her with enough courtesy to bow. Then he seems to scrunch his eyes looking at them, likely the resemblance. 

"I know I look just like my mother!" Sansa's giddy laughter fills their little corner of the airport. She watches him soften, a smirk lightening his features as he looks on her daughter with what appears like sincere feeling. 

"Yes, little bird," he places a hand on her back and looks at both of them again, "It's uncanny." She's never seen Sansa look so happy before almost, it's different, more mature than her infatuation with Joffrey all those years in high school. She'd had a sneaking suspicion things wouldn't play out quite as her daughter wanted, but at her age, Sansa wouldn't listen to any questioning of the crown prince. Still, her daughter could at least truly explain what happened that semester to her own mother surely.

Sandor insists on carrying her luggage as they head out to his waiting truck. After helping Sansa into the back, Sandor is quick to hold the door for her and extend a hand to assist. At least Sansa made sure his manners were in check for her visit. Strange sitting next to the man as he silently shifts his truck into gear and down the road. 

"Mother, how was your flight?" Her daughter considerately makes small talk. 

"Oh, it was fine, dear, just a bother to have to fly all the way to Kings Landing to switch planes but I suppose there's not a lot of travel from Wintertown to Maidenpool." is her response.

"True, though Maidenpool is a lovely town and hopefully we can show you more tomorrow than when I moved in," her daughter adds cheerfully.

"Sounds wonderful, though I would like a little time with you to myself, Sansa," she glances at Sandor with a serious look to cement her proposal. "When are we meeting Petyr?" 

"Oh, at seven," Sansa responds, "There's a nice cafe we're meeting him at. It's where we had our first date." She can hear the elation in her voice. Clegane continues along quietly, evidently not one to waste words. That can make communication challenging in a relationship, she considers.

"Sandor, what is it you like there?" Sansa tries to draw him into the conversation. 

"Best chicken. You know that, little bird," he glances at her in his rearview mirror. 

"Do you two eat out a lot?" she questions. Sansa is looking healthier at least than what she did at the end of her first year in college, hopefully no longer skipping meals.

They both reply at once, so Sansa defers to her boyfriend with a smile his direction. "Not much, Sansa's vegetarian so she is a bit particular, and she'll make food often. Sansa enjoys dates a great deal, though, so she's worth spoiling sometimes," he ends, and she can detect a hint of a smile. Well, that is satisfactory, she admits. Carrying on like so, it isn’t long until Sandor is pulling up on Sansa’s curb.

Once inside, Cat's surrounded by dogs, so Sansa introduces her to Tess, a puppy Sandor's training and then another large dog, named Stranger of all things, and of course Lady. "I'll make tea," Sansa voices.

"Where do you want this?" He looks to them about her luggage. Sansa quickly directs, "my room, please," and Sandor deposits her carry-on bag there.

Sitting down on Sansa's yellow couch, she tells her daughter, "Very charming how you've decorated. So different." It's much more that bohemian-eclectic style than what you'd find at Winterfell for sure, even despite Arya's efforts to ruin her room. 

Sandor takes the chair next to her, and addresses her, "I do regret the circumstances under which I met Lord Stark, but I hope not to repeat that," he smirks slightly, eyeing Sansa coming in with three cups of tea. Then he continues in a more commanding tone, "But know I don't intend to give up Sansa under any condition and that I do want Lord Stark to know of us." She's a bit startled at his insistence all of a sudden. 

"I agree," her daughter timidly adds, looking at her so unsure but with so much hope she doesn't want to disappoint her truly. 

"If you're so insistent, why not now?" she pulls out her phone and dials her husband. 

"Mom!" Sansa protests.

"It's got to happen sometime, little bird," Sandor jumps in.

"If you're going to keep seeing this man, you should tell your father," she stresses to her anxious daughter. Sansa nods as Ned answers.

Speaking to just to him, she informs him, "Ned, I made it to Maidenpool and am here with our daughter and her friend, Sandor."

"Sandor? What is he doing there?" Ned responds, confused and disgruntled.

Ignoring his questioning, she further explains the situation, "They have something they would like to share with you, putting you on speaker."

"Lord Stark, hello," Sandor voices with a serious scowl on his face, no doubt this is like pulling off a band-aid for him after the last time they spoke. 

"Hey daddy," Sansa chimes in, and Ned replies, "Hey sweetheart, what is going on?" 

Not waiting on Sansa, Sandor answers, "Lord Stark, I want to inform you, your daughter and I are now together, in a relationship that is. I intend for this to be long-term." The man also intends to be crystal clear it appears. 

"What?!" Ned reacts, not able to understand.

"Daddy, Sandor's my boyfriend, I've wanted to tell you for awhile. Please be happy for me," Sansa does her best. 

She hears him sigh, collecting himself. Ned then accuses, "You knew about this, Cat?" which she was expecting. 

"I had to come see for myself. I didn't want to upset you at New Year's," she replies, not wanting to get into it more deeply in front of these two.

"This has been going on that long?" He sounds dumbfounded.

"I've been with Sandor two months or so now," Sansa looks up to smile at Sandor, who nods to her, encouraging. 

Stressing each word, Ned grates, "I do not approve of this, Sansa. As for you, Clegane, I told you to stay away from my daughters. Do I need to get on a plane?" putting a heavy cloud in the room. Sandor is shaking his head, and she can tell he couldn't care less about what either of them think and will likely not want anything to do with them, but that doesn’t mean he’ll give up on their daughter. She doesn't want that, especially because it would pull Sansa away even more than this Joffrey thing has. 

"Ned, please, I will handle this. We have to go to dinner soon, we will discuss this more later," Catelyn ends the discussion before it gets too ugly. Hopefully, Ned will get used to the idea before ruining further any potential rapport with Sandor, no matter how unsuitable he is for their daughter.

"I'll go get ready and pick you two up a bit before seven," Sandor gets up, leashing his two dogs and not looking at her. She can tell the words bother him, even if he tries to not care. Sansa gets up to see him to the door, and she's surprised to see him bend to kiss her without holding back, his hand lightly caressing her back, right in front of her. Sansa has the decency to blush as she returns to the couch.

"Please don't judge him too harshly, something came up last week to upset him, but he's trying to put it aside for your visit," her daughter smiles.

"What is it? Maybe I can help," she tries to keep the peace.

"Oh, something with work," Sansa's eyes trail to the left, _why would she lie?_ Must be about her or them, her parents.

"Your father wants what's best for you and has a very negative impression of him after the incident with your sister. I must admit I'm biased, too, but we just want you happy, dear," Catelyn tries to explain their standpoint.

"You don't understand," Sansa shakes her head, choking up a bit, "Sandor actually pushed me away after what Dad had said then. It really upset him, even if he didn't admit it. I don't think it will again, but I was really sad without him. It wasn't good for either of us. He was my only true friend."

Catelyn swallows, taking in Sansa's perspective. "It will take time for us to see him like you do. He is a rough man, who has a dark cloud around him."

Sansa jumps in, defensive, "How can you say that?"

Catelyn holds up her hand to halt her daughter, offering, "Still, he seems to care for you a great deal, as a first impression."

Sansa is quick to proclaim, "Oh, he's so wonderful, Mother. I wouldn't have thought things would develop like they have when I first met him, but I wouldn't change anything. You will see."

"Sansa, he's a severe man, who takes your relationship very seriously it appears. You need to be aware of that going forward if you do not see it the same. You're so young, just nineteen." As much as she wants this to be a college fling, it became clear to her quickly just how this Sandor doesn't see it that way. He doesn't flinch at meeting her parents but pursues it as a challenge to overcome. Almost possessive in his tone to Ned, she purses her lips at that thought, like he was asking to be defied. She's not sure if this is bad or not. It all depends on her daughter's true feelings, which can change as she matures more. _That man is not one you want as an unhappy ex._

"I know, but he makes me feel so loved and safe. There’s another side to him, one that would do anything for me. I couldn’t even begin to list how much he’s helped me so far," Sansa smiles, hopeful she's supplying the right answers. "It doesn't scare me, I think it’s a good thing. Why should I be afraid of someone taking a relationship with me seriously, even if I am just nineteen? It took him awhile to open up to me that now I think he would have a hard time letting go. At least that's what I understood from therapy." _Does she really know her own feelings or is she confusing love with gratitude?_ Still she doesn't get what's so wrong she needs therapy. _Why can't she just talk to her mother?_

Sansa posits, "Can we discuss his background tomorrow instead of with Petyr tonight? He wants to go over it with you.” 

"Of course, dear," she smiles, running her hand through Sansa's hair, a slightly lighter shade than hers. "That's probably for best." _Last thing they need is Petyr's involvement._ "I'm looking forward to it," she nods, hoping it will help things. 

After getting dressed and situated, Sandor picks them up, dressed well - likely Sansa again, and they head to the restaurant. 

"Cat!" Petyr warmly greets her with his typical excitement, pulling her in for a too-long hug as they step inside. _That man._ He hugs her daughter, too, shaking hands with Sandor as they head toward the table he's procured.

Seated, Petyr already has a favorite, expensive wine picked out, and he tells her all about it as the waitress pours it for her to taste and approve. Looking over at his niece, he remarks, "Sansa, you look more like your beautiful mother every day," finding a way to compliment them both. He's always been the one with words. Still, he seems particularly on key for this occasion, sitting forward with his hands clasped on the table. 

"How is my sister and her son?" she asks over her menu. 

"Lysa is well. Little Robert as well, but we aren't here for all that. We must hear about Sansa's beau. Tell us all your secrets, Sandor." Petyr grins over at the man who seems out of place scrunched into the trendy booth, uncomfortable in many ways. Sansa looks stunned at Petyr's request like it's beyond her powers of charm to smooth things over.

Catelyn chastises him, "Don't be ridiculous, Petyr."

"I was only joking, Cat," he smiles at her, sliding his short arm around the back of her chair. "Look at him, like a deer in headlights," he laughs alone. She can tell Sandor is seething with annoyance, more like a dog ready to snap.

Attempting to get over that bump, Sansa smiles at them both about to bring up some neutral topic likely when Petyr continues, "Seriously though Sandor..." he leads, looking like he’s trying to remember something.

"Clegane," Sansa and Sandor supply at once.

"Now that's a name you don't hear everyday. Wasn’t there?” he acts to think for moment, with a finger over his lip, “There was someone with that name or similar in the news maybe a while ago, wasn't there, Cat?" he points over at Sandor.

"Clegane?" She scrunches her brows at him, wondering. 

"Gregor Clegane. What of it?" Sandor spits out like poison itself, making Cat look at him and blink, startled at his gruff pronouncement. But then it hits her, and she gasps, watching him drink down a glass of wine. 

"Sandor?" Sansa looks at him, upset, and stopping Petyr from adding to the wine glass. Sandor just looks blank at nothing across the restaurant.

"Is he a relation of yours?" Petyr continues, invested in this line of questioning evidently. Catelyn glares at Petyr for probing but is genuinely curious. The waitress is there to take their order, giving Sandor a moment's reprieve. 

"Is that your brother?" Sansa tentatively looks at Sandor once the waitress is gone, and Catelyn dislikes that her daughter feels she must be so cautious with her boyfriend.

"Yes, little bird," hearing her voice seems to bring him back from the edge as he looks down at her with a sigh, his hands resting on the table. 

"Your brother?" Her curiosity gets the best of her, but a glance at Petyr proves a smug appearance. _What is he playing at? It's always a game with him._

"Aye, Lady Catelyn, he's not worth your thought. He's been in prison for a good while for what he did to that Martell lady,” he explains, looking pained.

"What was he like?" Petyr's curiosity going beyond decency, earning a dangerous glare from Sandor.

Sansa's the one to his defense, "Please, Petyr, let's not get into that. He's an awful person, leave it at that." She can see her daughter trying to comfort Sandor, _must be more to it_. 

"What else does your uncle need to know?" Sandor responds, clearly frustrated at being the topic of discussion. 

"Just trying to get to know you, right, Cat?" Petyr tries to deflect to her, and she looks at him with a straight face, unamused. She just wanted to have a pleasant dinner, but that's not enough for Petyr. He always would find some way to bother Ned at the holidays. It was almost a blessing when Lysa became too _ill_.

"How was your date the other night?" Catelyn changes the subject back to the present. It was a striking picture Sansa sent her.

"Oh, Sandor took me to Barrett's, which is a lovely restaurant here," Sansa joyfully answers, much appreciating this line of discussion no doubt.

"Oh, Barrett's is expensive," Petyr raises his brow, looking at her.

Sansa only flinches slightly, Sandor wrapping one arm around her. "And Sandor was so handsome in his dress uniform," she smiles up at Sandor. "It was so special," Sansa smiles out at them so contentedly.

"Were you celebrating something?" Petyr inquires.

"Oh," Sansa flushes slightly, picking up her wine glass, but Sandor answers for her, lightly caressing Sansa's arm, "No reason. She deserves special dates every now and then, maybe we'll do it again sometime."

"Really?" Sansa's smile returns, enthusiastic. 

"Her birthday is at the end of the semester," Catelyn points out with a small smile to Sandor as she takes another sip of this pretentious wine. 

Their food arrives, smelling wonderful, and Sandor looks ready to devour his chicken, she smiles, amused. He seems a wholesome sort in a way. She herself didn't marry a man with charm. _The Seven knows today of all days._

Near the end of their meals, Petyr puts to Sandor, "What is it you do? I think Sansa may have mentioned it."

Sandor takes a moment to just look at Petyr oddly while he's finishing, and then directs his answer to her instead. "Discharged from Special Forces due to a bad injury. I've been on reserve, working part-time training dogs for various duties. Been about a year in Maidenpool." Catelyn nods to him, not the most impressive but honest service to the kingdoms. She did hear of his rescue of Ser Jaime Lannister though, perhaps that was when he was injured.

“Oh that explains your scars," Petyr says flippantly draining the rest of the wine.

"No, it doesn't," Sandor raises his voice in a grating tone.

"Sandor, please," Sansa tries to soothe him with a hand on his arm. "He doesn't know."

Petyr grins, his hands parting in a non-threatening gesture, "No need to get heated, Sandor. You are seeing a very prominent young lady of a great house, shouldn't her family know what sort of man you are?"

"Though you are right, Petyr," Catelyn allows, "This is not necessarily the time or place for such matters."

"Then when is such a time?" Petyr gives her a sharp look, guess he expected her to be on his side in this. She's on her daughter's side, and none of this should concern him.

"Not with her uncle," Sandor levels a stare at Petyr that makes all of them tense up. Still, he spoke her thoughts bluntly, so she says nothing. Sansa is speechless, her mouth open slightly, looking at Sandor with her eyes wide open. 

"Well, I'm sure Cat will agree a ruffian such as you is not fit for a lady as fine as our Sansa," Petyr throws back at Sandor, not flinching to harangue a man twice his size.

Sandor slams a fist on the table, making everything jump and settle with a clang. He yells at Petyr, "Who put a stick up your ass?" Sansa immediately jumps up, demanding in a sharp voice, "Sandor Clegane, outside with me this instance!" Despite the fearsome anger coloring his expression, Sandor gets up and follows her out without argument.

Once they are outside, Petyr remarks to her, "Well, hells, can you believe the nerve of this soldier she lowers herself for? Accosting me so?" 

"You've been antagonizing him all night as if you knew all his sore subjects," she retorts. Truly, she wouldn't put it past Petyr, she just doesn't understand why.

"Cat," he sounds out her name trying to make amends. "You must admit he is an odd choice on her part, short-sighted for sure. Perhaps you should get her eyes checked even, considering that face."

"I'm proud of my daughter for being able to look beyond his scars," Catelyn informs him, not finding his insult amusing.

That easy smile of Petyr's returns as he laughs a second, "Of course, our sweet Sansa, it's as if she's..." he tilts his head, looking over her face deep in the thought he doesn't finish voicing. Then less wistful, "She could be a great lady, but I fear a poor match would ruin that future for her." 

Catelyn sighs, looking over at Petyr. These are fears Catelyn truly shares. Hard to stomach the change from her daughter being exalted to become a princess then to instead be the girlfriend of a scarred, much older soldier, not to mention his demeanor. A hostile outburst like this evening is not the level of maturity or propriety she expects in someone worthy of her daughter's affections.

Capitalizing on their agreeable viewpoints, Petyr suggests, placing a hand on hers there on the table, "Let's discuss more these fears we share. I have an even better vintage at the house."

Understanding his insinuation clearly, Catelyn rips her hand from under his, politely stating, "Send my regards to Lysa and little Robert," and stands turning to walk away. 

"Cat," she hears him call to her through the restaurant. _What a scene they've made._ At the door, she glances back to see him standing there, watching her with a cloth napkin in hand and a hurt expression. All she can do is walk away, the nerve of him after all these years, and he thinks Sandor is the one who lacks decency.

Sansa and Sandor are talking nearby and turn confused to see her walk out. "We're going," is all she has to say as they follow her to Sandor's truck to head back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to hear what you think! Thanks for following the story. :)


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn POV + Bonus Sandor POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The_Immaculate_Bastard asked for more Catelyn, so I delivered for her :) Hope you enjoy the continuing visit from Mother Stark!

**Catelyn POV**

"Sansa!" Cat cries for her daughter from the kitchen, the coffee spilling over, hopefully she saw the pair of distinctively male underwear she set on her dresser. Catelyn couldn't believe her daughter would have overlooked such a detail, but perhaps she shouldn't read into it. Still, she hopes that man isn't pressuring her. _What if she's pregnant?_ Her mind jumps, worried. 

Sansa comes around the counter quickly, rushing to fix the coffee machine as grounds spill out on the counter. "Why don't we go out for coffee? Or I could ask Sandor to bring some?" Sansa suggests.

"May I spend the morning at least with my daughter?" she smiles, light-hearted. 

"Of course," Sansa returns her smile. 

"Let's get dressed, then we can get coffee and shop at the market square," Sansa plans.

Thinking any moment is not ideal, Catelyn puts her hand on her daughter as she turns, stopping her. "I just would like to know you are using proper protection." 

"Protection?" Sansa reacts, unaware, but then Catelyn can tell the meaning hits her as the red embarrassment creeps over her face. It makes her uncomfortable, too, even after having to address such with Robb. The conversation would never happen if it were up to Ned to do it.

"Yes," Sansa squeaks then bolts for her room, and Cat can hear the shower turn on. She'd smile at her daughter's silly behavior, but the subject does not amuse her one bit. Her sweet daughter giving herself to that man, at least he is serious when it comes to her, even tenacious. Better than one to take advantage of her kindness and leave her. 

Noting the boxers are gone when she reenters Sansa's room, Catelyn brushes out her hair and picks out her outfit for the day. Slipping on her ankle boots while Sansa is just stepping out of the shower, she decides to call Ned to see if he's any better. 

"Honey?" She replies, once she hears him on the line.

"Oh Cat, what are we going to do?" He sounds so glum. 

Cat tells him straight, "Our daughter is becoming an adult, and we can't make choices for her, Ned. Going against Sandor will only push her away. She never even told us what truly happened with the prince."

"Don't remind me, too. Robert won't let it go either," Ned sounds pitiable.

"The man's determined about keeping her whether we approve or not, and I don't see Sansa giving up on him right now. We can just hope it's not forever, she's still so young." She tries to appease him.

"Still don't like it. He's a rough man," Ned postures.

Sighing, Cat relates, "Petyr was awful last night. He does not approve of Sandor either and was goading him with personal questions the whole time."

"For once, I agree with the snake," Ned laughs. "Thank the gods he doesn't come ruin Sevenmas anymore." Cat smiles, remembering how much Petyr nearly brought Ned to arms over politics whenever he could. It was awful, and Lysa didn't make it better with how defensive she was of Petyr. 

Catelyn laughs in return, "You are right, husband. Sandor wants to give me an account today of his family and such, so I will go over that with you once I'm home. How are the boys?"

"Bran is fine, but Rickon has not been willing to go to bed. Such a handful still," Ned replies. 

"Oh, well, send my love to the boys, Sansa's coming out ready. Do you wish to speak to her?"

"Sure. Bye, love you and miss you, Cat," he still sounds so distressed.

"Love you too," she tells him before handing the phone to her daughter.

"Hey Daddy," her daughter says in a cheerless tone before a series of “yes” and “mmhms” as she listens to him. "Dad, school is fine. I just want you to give Sandor another chance is all, okay?" she tells him, "Love you too. Bye." She smiles at her daughter, happy that it sounds like Ned was more agreeable. She has such a kind, forgiving heart; it will all work out. She gets up to give her daughter a hug, hoping she still feels just as connected with her family despite the tumult over her new boyfriend. _Can hardly call him a boy though, she truly swore off those._

"Thanks mom, I really appreciate everything," her daughter tells her as she pulls out of their embrace. Then, they head out to the morning market shops and hopefully a good, hot cup of coffee. 

Walking to the old town, Sansa is able to point out Jonquil's Tower to her, and they walk under the beautiful Fool's Gate. _What a place to fall in love!_ "If it was warmer, we could take a boat around the city," Sansa points out. 

Little shops are set up for the winter market with knits, candles, and other trinkets. Little boutiques ring the square, and they chance into each one as they walk around, starting with the coffeeshop. 

"This is such a lovely town, and I'm glad your father isn't here to distract us. Couldn't leave him alone with Sandor at this point?" She smiles at Sansa who laughs, "That would not be a good idea. Could you imagine?" 

"Your father would glare at him, Sandor would likely glare back, and nothing would be said," she shakes her head, the two stubborn men. 

"They'd end up in a spitting contest about dogs I bet until Dad tries to show Sandor how to train best. And Sandor would get frustrated because he knows so much. If they could get over the hump of talking to each other, that is," Sansa sighs.

Catelyn smiles, "A real fight would do them good in a way, but hopefully it won't come to that. We want to see more of you not less. You should bring Sandor home for spring break." 

"That's a splendid idea!" Sansa turns around with a huge smile, "Hopefully, he can come."

"I will tell him, so he knows he's welcome," Catelyn suggests, and they walk into the next boutique full of beautiful lingerie. "How are your brassieres, dear? You're becoming more a woman every time I see you."

"Mom, that's okay," Sansa turns to leave. 

A woman comes to greet them, so Catelyn insists, "Sansa, have the lady measure you. Always good to make sure you have the right fit." 

"Mother, I'm fine," Sansa tries to show her annoyance while maintaining a polite facade. The woman is already ushering her daughter into the back. Sansa and Arya both seem to hate this necessity. 

After hearing the size, the lady shows off some bras to her, which Sansa picks from heading into the dressing room after snagging a cute pink one that must strike her fancy. Catelyn waits outside with the lady for Sansa, "Sansa, let her check the fit."

"Fine," she opens the door up to show a practical nude one. "I like it," Sansa looks upward, flipping her hair in annoyance. 

"The fit is fine, practical," the lady points out.

Next, the pink one didn't fit, so the helpful employee brought an array of colors for her to choose. Yellow ended up being her choice, but Cat spotted something in her dressing room.  
"What is that green one there? Did you try it?" Rather fancy for every day, but girls like these things. "Oh, that's the one I wore," Sansa responds, looking down where she fumbles with the yellow one.

"You didn't tell me you went bra shopping already, dear," Catelyn questions.

"I got it recently since my other bras weren't fitting well. So you're right, I do need new bras," Sansa looks up and smiles as though nothing is amiss. Her little girl already picking out lingerie, she sighs. Could've done without many of today's revelations on how grown up she's becoming. It's good for her to mature though, Cat admits, but in a way Petyr is right, Sansa does have the makings of a great lady, if only she'd see the path. 

After her purchase for Sansa, she buys tokens for the family when she returns tomorrow, and then they stop by to pick up supplies for the lunch Sansa wishes to prepare. Sandor comes by as Sansa starts her cooking, all vegetarian of course. He nods to her and walks right into the kitchen where she hears Sansa yelp. "Sandor, I thought you were my mother, hells," and even she must laugh, her surprising Sansa would be highly unusual. Her daughter must’ve been so focused she didn't hear him enter. She always had a bit of a perfectionist streak. 

"Mother, would you like some wine? It's just a dry white,” Sansa speaks up to address her.

"Of course, dear," and a moment later Sandor is bringing her a glass before heading back into the kitchen to help it appears. Next thing he's setting the table, even folding cloth napkins that look out of place in his large hands. 

"Ready," he speaks so Sansa can hear. 

"Okay, just sit with Mother till the food's ready," she responds. 

"Lady Catelyn," he nods, taking a chair. 

"You may call me Cat or Catelyn, if you prefer. No need for such formalities now," she smiles at him. He's done a decent job so far of showing respect despite banging on that table so awfully at dinner. She has seen Petyr push Ned to worse though. 

"Thank you, Catelyn," he nods. "I apologize for how I behaved at the restaurant."

"Thank you. Petyr can have that effect at times. You should see him and Ned talk politics, heavens. Sansa was just a child then. People don't change."

"Petyr is your sister's husband? Is she similar?" He asks, trying to understand.

"Yes, she is my sister, but she is different from him in some ways. I'm afraid she is not well anymore to travel," she leaves it at that.

"Sansa had mentioned her aunt before,” he shrugs.

"Has she told you about this summer internship?" Cat asks trying to get all the information.

"Yes, but Sansa still doesn't know the details of what or where,” Sandor admits and unfortunately she doesn’t know any more. Evidently, Sansa doesn’t either.

"Not talking about me too much, I hope," Sansa brings in a tray of sandwiches and a salad.

"Little bird, I told you I'd help with your luncheon or whatever you called it," Sandor gets up thoughtfully to help her bring all the soup bowls around the counter to her little table.

"Okay, I made tomato bisque, some grilled roasted veggie sandwiches, and salad,” Sansa gestures with her hands to the spread.

"How wonderful, everything looks delicious. Thank you, dear," Cat tells her daughter while Sandor is already dipping half a sandwich in his soup. She made enough for five or six people, but I suppose Sandor may eat a lot. 

"So you live near here, Sandor?" She lets her soup cool a second on the spoon. 

"Aye, I have an old house a few blocks away past the park,” he motions with his head in the direction.

Sansa adds, "It's a lovely house, perfect for him with a nice courtyard. It's even pink like much of historic Maidenpool."

"Oh, I noticed that, love the town. Reminds me a bit of Wintertown. Still, hard to imagine a pink house as perfect for Sandor," she quips. 

"Exactly," Sandor points to her, spoon in hand, with that smirk on his face Sansa seems to like as it’s in all her pictures of him. It does become him, despite the scars. "Can't change the color around here, even of a tiny house off the street," he complains. _What a different impression of his house they both describe_ , she purses her lips at Sandor’s offhand comment about his home. At least he's honest about who he is and doesn't seem after her for money. Still, could he take care of her daughter?

"I also have some property in the Westerlands with an old manor house on it where I grew up. My parents have died, and I have legally disinherited my brother," Sandor relates.

"Why don't you live there?" She asks the seemingly obvious question.

"I was healed nearby at the Quiet Isle and have continued there in the Reserves, so I spend a week there every month. The Elder Brother has been good to me, too good. I had a bad wound in my leg, still bothers me, but I no longer have a limp. My burn scars are from my brother." He lets that sink in as she looks up at his blank expression. He didn't indicate whether it was an accident or not. Sandor continues after his heavy pause, "Maidenpool seemed better than Saltpans. Still, I haven't gone out there and would like to check out the old lands before I consider selling them. There's reasonable income from the farmers and from the resources." Well, that is excellent, who knew this young man would be so entrusted, though it is unfortunate about his parents.

"Not to be intrusive but you should consider discussing your options with Ned and I if you look further into selling or managing it. Many will lead you down the wrong path,” she points out. "Perhaps you can come visit with Sansa for her spring break."

"I thank you, Catelyn," Sandor sincerely regards her with a nod. 

"Sandor," Sansa jumps in to correct him no doubt for not saying 'Lady,' but she explains, "I told him he could." In response, Sansa beams at them both. Then, Cat addresses Sandor again, "Who were your parents?" 

"Edmor and Alyce Clegane. The family comes from a kennelmaster to the Lannisters of Casterly Rock whose hounds saved the lord at the time from a lioness," Sandor relates. 

"How fascinating. Why don't you have a title?" Catelyn is curious.

"They were just landed knights in those days, and the land has held but the Clegane name did not rise. It's not that much property. Rather glad to be honest I don't have to bother with lord or ser and what not." _Nothing wrong with titles, it's a sign of family lineage and history,_ she thinks to herself.

"To each their own," she allows. 

"Sandor was offered a knighthood," Sansa is quick to point out. 

"I didn't forget," Cat gives a thin-lipped smile. "For someone seeing a lady such as my daughter, you show much disdain for the titled."

"I meant no disrespect, Catelyn," Sandor stops his meal to look at her with concern it seems. "If I'd known, I would've accepted the knighthood for Sansa's sake." 

_What a strong declaration!_ she is taken aback. "Do you intend to wed my daughter, sir?" she finds herself glaring at him.

"I intend to be with Sansa till she wants no more of me,” he finds Sansa’s hand on the table. “And if she agrees, it may include that one day." Catelyn looks over at her daughter whose wide-eyed expression likely echoes her own astonishment.

“What?” Sandor remarks, looking uncomfortable now as his eyes are directed at Sansa's, before getting up from the table, saying, “Excuse me,” to her.

“Sandor!” Sansa follows after him, likely to try and placate him, and she just lets them talk it over.

After they return, Sandor helps Sansa with the dishes, so she can show Catelyn all her artwork. Amidst the shaded boxes and nudes, she has a impressive drawing of Sandor that she evidently wants to frame. So talented, her daughter. Then Sandor takes them up toward the castle to spend the afternoon, and she’s surprisingly becoming relaxed around the man. He’s completely different than anything she would have thought for her daughter’s affections, but from what she can see, there are only a couple areas of concern, namely this possessive streak he seems to have.

 

* * *

 

**Sandor POV**

“Little bird,” he draws her into one of the spiral staircases as her mother wanders further into the collection at the castle. “Would you like a tour of the dungeon?” he softly teases her upper arm with a smirk.

“Sandor, my mother,” she stresses, but he can tell she’s soaking in all his attention. He still feels a bit wounded by her surprise at just how seriously he takes their relationship. He wasn't trying to bring up marriage, the gods only know. 

“I have barely been able to kiss you,” he speaks, pulling her to him and lowering to place his mouth on hers. So sweet it is to feel her soft form against him and those lips. Gods, that mother has some awful timing. He runs his hands down her back to squeeze her further into him, and one goes up into her hair to hold it roughly, making her whimper so wantonly it kills him. “Little bird,” he kisses down to her neck, lightly sucking, “Please.”

“You know I don’t like it down there in that damp place,” she argues ending with a gasp as his hand squeezes her bottom. “Sandor,” she protests but she should know better than to use his name to whine at this point, it only eggs him on. He takes her hand and pulls her up the east tower and further away from her mother. Nothing against her, fine woman, a true lady. He sees where his Sansa gets it. Looks so much like his girl though, it nearly freaked him out. 

Getting to the top, he lowers down on the stone steps and has her sit across his lap. He presses her against him and damn, if he’s not hard. “Sandor, I don’t want to here,” his little bird gives him an uneasy face, always worried he’ll be disappointed in her. So perfect. He kisses her little forehead, reassuring her, “I just want to kiss you, okay,” he looks in her eyes for approval, his hand fluffing out that soft copper, hair of hers. She nods with a little smile and a light in her blue eyes that makes him want to look at her forever. She’s so pretty.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes on her face, and softly touches her lip with his index finger, gently tugging it down as he comes toward her to press his lips against her own, opening his mouth as his eyes roll back at the taste of his sweet Sansa girl. He hums, his hands circling her waist to move her to straddle him. He holds her steady as he consumes all he can of her in this moment.

Her hands smooth over his shoulders and wrap around her neck, as she whimpers so pleasing and pulls closer to him. His arms wrap around her back in kind as he breathes heavily in his devotion to her, wanting to feel all of her with his mouth on her lips, her body against him, particularly those precious breasts pressed against his chest. He continues kissing her for some time, losing track of it, until she pulls back, worried again, _dammit_ , “Sandor, my mother, really we must go. She already suspects.”

“Suspects what?” his brow creases, concerned for what next this woman has in store for him.

“She thinks we’ve been sleeping together. I was an idiot and left a pair of your boxer briefs out in the room,” she shakes her head like it’s a calamity. All he can do is smirk, almost proud, “Why is that bad? We are. What’s with all this hiding stuff anyways? We’re together, it’s good.” He tightens his grip around her for emphasis.

“You’re right. It’s just awkward,” she pulls back her legs from around him to sit more ladylike.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” his hand can’t stop touching her, running over her soft shirt as he deftly teases her nipple through it in surprise.

“Sandor,” she pushes at his hand, but he can see that pleased little smile she gets when he compliments her. He feels stupid sometimes for saying it, but it’s worth it to make her happy.

Getting up to head back down he warns her, “Once we drop your mother at the airport tomorrow, I’ll be taking you back to my house. I’ll carry you up to my room. And I’ll take off all of this,” rubbing his hands over her clothes, “and then have all of you.” His lips come down on hers again as he rubs his hands down her arms, holding them against him, and he swears the hair on them is raised as he breaks to kiss each delicate hand.

She smiles mischievously, looking up at him with amused eyes. “Am I supposed to say ‘yes, sir,’”

“That’s a start,” he smirks, squeezing her side before readjusting and heading back to find that mother of hers.

  


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV

"What are you doing, Sandor?" Sansa gets into him. She wasn't supposed to be home yet, she's got class now usually. 

He motions to the guns out on the desk in his spare room,"I go through and clean what needs it and check on things regularly."

"Is that why this backpack is packed?" Giving him a hard look, she attempts to pick it up. It's no small trifle, he can't help smirking at her failure and seeing her all worked up.

"It's just my bug out bag," he reaches for her arms to assuage her as he tries to hide his true purpose. He's been formulating plans since he found out, having little Stark work on identifying those in the video and provide photo identification for him.

She comes toward him, her hands splayed and her eyes narrowed, and she starts on him, "Don't you dare. I know what this is about. You've been agitated, your mind elsewhere since that day on the Quiet Isle." 

"So what," he shrugs his oversize shoulders, his hands finding his pockets instead. "I'm going to take care of it."

Looking up at him, a bitter gravity enters her tone when she spouts, "Why do you have to make this about them? About you even? Like you have to do something. Like last time. Why? I would've never told you if I'd known this." She throws her hands out, gesturing at his array of firearms, and then sinks down into the desk chair, her hands covering her face. "Why can't you leave it to me?"

The anger in her eyes pierces him like he's never seen before, never thought could reside in her. It makes him swallow hard, even nip his tongue as he falters stepping back. Her dominant hand comes up to bang on her chest as she raises her voice, "This happened to me! Me, not you. And I will decide what will be done. How dare you attempt to act on my behalf with what I told you in confidence. Now I've lost some trust for you," she balls her hand into a fist at her chest, standing tall in front of him despite her body rigid with tension.

"You have to do something," he grits, but she yells, "Shut up," over him, a coldness now added to her gaze. Coldness like the blow of her disappointment twisting inside him.

She firmly states each word with all her might, "You do not tell me what to do. Especially not about this."

He is not to be cowed by her, he thinks, as he recovers his step, "How do you expect me to do nothing?" _She doesn't know what's for her own good._

"How dare you," she reiterates in that biting tone that continues to freeze him and shakes her head in disgust at him. "I say you do nothing, you do nothing. Because this is about me, and I make the decisions about me." Her pointing finger balls into a fist as she shakes slightly, the tension taking over, "What if I broke into the prison in Dorne and killed Gregor for you, not even telling you first? And guess what, then stayed there for my murder charge, would you like that? Is that what you want? Because it's no fucking different, Sandor Clegane."

He grimaces hearing her say his name like that. Like a Sansa he never knew existed, so sour when she’s always so sweet. "I may have stood by before, but I'm not standing by to watch you throw what we have away to right some wrong done to me. Even if it is a terrible wrong." She's shaking more and looks down, her hands grasping her knees as she whispers, "I guess you don't want me now anyways." He sinks to his feet to hear her so defeated even after her aggressive speech against him. She gets up to leave but he grabs her arm to pull her to him and she relents.

His head at her belly, he pulls her close, only able to say, "I didn't know." He never stopped to think she wouldn't want him to do something. All he could think about was killing them all. He'd never thought it was like Gregor. That pile of shit had never paid for what he did to him. Sandor knew justice was bullshit more than the next man, but still he wanted it for his little bird. It wasn't until the end he recognized her again. All he feels is guilt, rage somewhere bubbling, but mostly guilt. He wants to be mad at her and a part is embroiled, but it's not what comes through, just guilt for hurting her over this. For not putting her wishes first. 

"Can we just lay down, I'm not feeling well?" She tells him after a minute, so he nods and follows her into his room. Sansa just lays on her side next to him with her hands tucked up under her head, her eyes steady on his. Peace settles between them, and he moves his hand over to roam the soft curve of her side gingerly. _So precious_ , he thinks looking over her form. He'll never tire of this view, even though less clothing would make it better he thinks as his hand finds the bottom edge of her shirt.

"You promise?" She breaks his train of thought, and he looks back up into those blue eyes reading him.

"Promise what?" he scrunches his brow at her.

"You won't do anything without asking my approval first," her voice is the softer tone he’s more used to, but her gaze is trained on him in all seriousness. 

He sighs, tapping her side in thought. "Yes," he speaks the only answer he can for her. "I know now you don't want me to do anything. Just let me know when I can."

She nods, satisfied. "You already do more than you know." She moves over against him with a relieved sigh. He rubs his hands down her back to soothe her. He holds her like that till her eyes close into a little nap, must have taken a lot out of her to confront him so.

Getting up, he heads down to call Arya. "Little wolf, the operation is off. Your sister doesn't want me to do anything and is clearly adamant about it." 

"What?" Arya scoffs. "That's just Sansa."

"No, she really doesn't want me to do anything." He fears she'd leave him in protest if he did. He'd never seen her so driven to her point.

"That's no fun," Arya gripes. "Did you have a fight?" She cackles in her way at his silence, "Looks like you lost." 

"It's not about that, silly, little girl," he barks back. He shouldn't even have bothered to call. "You're lucky you've never seen her like that." 

"I'm sure I have, she's my sister," Arya says as if it's obvious. 

"It was almost like I could see your mother in her," he tries to relate the level of her ire. Catelyn never yelled at him, but if she had, it would've been brutal he imagines. Just her disapproving snips at times would put ice in his blood. _Women and their words._

"Oh that," Arya grasps his meaning, "Understood. It's weird having an older sister so much like your mother."

"Your mother is a fierce woman but fair. Can't say I don't respect her," he admits, though glad the family's not so close for more frequent visits. Little bird wouldn't see a problem with that though, he imagines. 

"Mom decided to tell the boys at dinner when she came back that she met Sansa's boyfriend." Arya brings up, amusement clear in her voice, "And it was hard not to laugh at how pitiful my dad was about it. Nothing has been said since." 

"On top of it, your mother wants me to come up for spring break," Sandor reveals the invitation he feels he can't refuse. A week with her family! How's he going to manage that?

"Yeah, she mentioned that. A whole week with Dad," Arya laughs. "You could bring the dogs at least." 

"Tess isn't fit for laps anymore. Would probably leave her and Crow at the isle." He starts formulating his plan. "Is this in a month or so?" he wonders.

"I guess, ask Sansa. Are you going to sign in or what, douche nozzle? I could use the backup, and I'm bored." Arya messes with him, trying to get him to play their game online.

"Alright, since you need my big fuckin’ sword," he hits back, getting his headset on in the den and Nomad up and running.

"Ew," she recoils and hangs up. He just chuckles roughly at her expense.

Must be a few hours before Sansa comes down with that sleepy pout from a too long nap. So cute, he motions for her to sit next to him. She slumps down, still dragging.

After awhile her phone starts to buzz. "Sandor," she says unsure, looking at the message. "My uncle's wanting for an answer about this important dinner he wants me to go with him to in King's Landing. I kind of said no, but he thinks it's important for this summer." 

"King's Landing? You shouldn't have to go there," he reacts, confused at the suggestion.

Her phone continues to buzz, and she walks into the kitchen to presumably talk to the annoying little shit her uncle is. _Gods damn that uppity douchebag_. She comes back in with her most persuasive tone, "Do you think we could go? It's just one night." She sits down on her knees next to him. "I'll get us a hotel room." That pulls his attention from slashing away at desert spiders, and he watches his warrior fall back from his faltering with an amused smile on his face. 

"That's not a bad idea," he directs his attention to her, deciding his had enough of this game and logging out.

"Really?" She asks, spritely. 

Stripping off his headset, he pulls her up on his lap, "But don't worry your pretty head about it. I'll set it up. Just as long as I don't have to see that uncle of yours," he grimaces.

"Okay," her excitement dims, and her eyes lower to his chest. "Sorry he was so rude to you."

He sighs, “He’s your family and from what I can tell, they only want the best for you.” He runs his hands through her pretty hair, one of the first things he loved about her, before admitting, "You do deserve better than me.”

"I like the way you treat me, though," she leans into his chest, "That makes you better than all the rest. And I love you." Her arms wrap around his neck and pull him in for a sweet kiss as her hands go in his hair. He's found she likes his hair almost as much as he does hers, always having her hands tug at it or wind around it. She'll even try to fix it for him before they head out somewhere, he smiles into her kiss, remembering how much attention she paid to everything for her mother’s visit. Silly little bird. Different having someone care about that. She won't let his hair hang over his scars either. He pulls away to look at her, running his knuckles gently over her soft features. Being with her, he forgets it all. She's worth everything for that.

Her eyes get a little glimmer in them, pleased at his rapt attention. She takes the moment to ask, a bit of that seriousness from before reappearing, "You promise you won't attempt anything? You know, while I'm at the dinner." 

"You sure I can't at least give the prince a scare?" He smirks, running his hands up her side to tickle, eliciting a little jump.

"Sandor, you know I'm serious about this," she sharpens her look to remind him.

"Too well, please don't remind me, you spiteful little bird," he smirks at her.

“Spiteful?" her little voice rings in alarm. He laughs at how that little reproach upsets his usually so pleasing Sansa.

"I guess I'll go work with the dogs," he starts getting up after pressing another kiss to her.

"Can we take them on a walk?" Sansa stretches herself out on the couch, her toes wiggling.

"Alright, as long as you promise to be good," he likes playing these little games with her.

"Always for you," she gets up, looking at him with a cute bit of mischief to her expression. She tries to move by him for the leashes, but he pulls her in and roves his hands all over the soft creature she is, leaning over to rasp, "I know it," kissing the top of her head. He leads her with his hand to get the dogs. Sansa insists on bringing Tess, too, but they leave Crow. He's become a damn good guard dog, hells if he isn't competitive with Stranger.

Heading out the door, the dogs are pulling ahead, eager to start, as they wander their way towards the park. Sansa looks over at him, an easy smile on her lips and her hair whipping behind her from Tess's pull. It’s been a long time since they went to their little pond in the park, but it’s almost like Lady and Stranger are pointing the way. When they get there, he lets them off the leashes to run a bit, more than they can in his little courtyard before settling in his old place on the grass

“I wish I’d brought my picnic blanket, remember?” She looks at him as she lowers herself onto the grass next to him.

“I remember a lot of things here, especially how much I wanted to kiss you,” he smirks down at her next to him. She sits up prettily to lean over and kiss him.

“I hate what happened here to make us stop coming. I hate how much power Joff had over my life. I was so scared after it happened, too. Now I feel I can finally talk about it, talk about all of it,” she smiles at him, “at least to you. It just feels like something has clicked, and it’s no longer dragging me down. Like I’m not afraid, and I have you to thank for that.” She wraps her arms around his forearm, leaning into him.

He shifts to wrap the arm around her instead, not knowing what to say, something like pride to see the strength in her today, even if it meant to bruise him earlier. He may still call her the little bird, but she was not that frail creature today.

That night in the dark room, he wakes to run his hands over himself, feeling for wounds. His breathing comes sharp from the dream he’s trying to piece together now. He was in a forest in the dark of night, running, trying to get somewhere. He looks over to see the little bird sleeping peacefully on her side. Was he trying to get to her? The bright flicker of gunfire surrounded him sending bullets through the trees, most hitting the trunks. He remembers stopping to shield himself at an old growth tree, but there were closer shots and he felt the pain he knows too well. Getting up to run, he stumbled on a thick root, falling back into consciousness.

Sighing, Sandor gets up, wanting a taste of whiskey to wash away another bad dream. If it’s not fire, it’s a firefight, but this time he had no weapon of his own, just his legs to carry him away. He pulls out whatever pills he has, seeing nothing that will help, so he opens up a bottle of her wine.

Sansa’s light footsteps he hears trailing down the steps, and she walks into the kitchen, blinking. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a bad dream,” he tells her, grabbing another glass for her.

“You shouldn’t be drinking, but one glass, okay?” she looks at him so concerned.

“Alright,” he forces, hating that she feels she should decide for him. It’s his house.

She comes around to his side of the counter and hugs as much as her little body can, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it happens,” he rubs her back. They sit down at the kitchen table, each with their glass of wine. Sandor takes big gulps to feel it dull him faster while she barely sips hers.

“You want to tell me about it?” she extends her hand to him. He takes it with a shake of his head no. “I’m here for you okay,” she squeezes his hand.

“I know,” he squeezes hers back, closing his eyes as he feels the alcohol do it’s work, forcing peace in his mind. It’s better than resorting to pills, he doesn’t care what anyone says. Feeling that relief, he grabs her hand and takes her back up to bed. Lying there on their sides together, he kisses her and pulls her close, breathing in her sweet smell, wanting to sleep just like this, with her in his arms.

 


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: King's Landing Visit

Lazily yawning, Sansa leans against him, feeling his strong body support her as they drive down to King's Landing. Between a design project and a paper for Petyr, she spent more time at her flat that week and is happy to be with him and have a mini trip. His hand leaves the throttle to slide onto her leg, and his fingers trail in to squeeze her inner thigh. The action makes her legs jump slightly and she reproves playfully, "Sandor," nudging his side. 

He smirks next to her, glancing over before moving his hand further north and massaging into her thigh in slow, languid circles, over and over. Gods, what torture. She breathes out heavily with a needy whimper as her thighs open in response. His pleased hum resonates within her, and she closes her eyes and tries to get closer.

His hand abruptly retreats to shift his truck, and he instructs her, "Undo your pants."

"Sandor," she more seriously asserts. "What do you mean? We're in the truck, it's broad daylight." She moves away from him, picking up her purse to look through it for lip balm and check her phone.

He snorts, smirking at her, "Woman, one of these days you'll learn to do what your told and reap the benefits."

"That's definitely the first time you've called me woman," she rolls her eyes, pausing to look at him before demanding, "Don't." He lets out a laugh in response. 

After a bit of silence, he urges, "Come here. I'll behave, Lady Sansa." 

She can't help but grin, sliding next him again, demurely asking, "You promise?"

"Of course," he lays his arm on her thigh casually, not needing to shift gears, and she settles back into his warmth. "Wake up, little bird," is the next thing she hears as she sits up and stretches. Sandor carries their bags in, and she follows with her dress.

In the room, she sets her dress in the closet. It's such a beautiful blue one that makes her waist look tiny. Her hands- ghosts over it but she looks up sensing him behind her. Her heart starts pumping as she feels him near, turning to find his eyes on her with a look she knows well now.

"I don't know if there's time," she limply argues.

He just smirks at her, "Take it off." _Gods, how does he thrill her so much?_ To be wanted so strongly, every time it amazes her and fills her with delight. 

Getting out of her clothes, he follows suit and comes right next to her, gliding his hand over her back and down her arm. "Better now that you're following directions," his smirk continues to work its magic. The heat of him radiates over her, and she's melting from the sight of him and his attentions. She knows he could enter her now with little resistance, except if he didn't always stretch her so wonderfully, she smiles up at him.

Guessing her thoughts, his eyes turns mischievous, and then he turns her around so her back is to him and starts to roughly massage her breasts, pressing them and pulling at her nipples. She falls against him limply, at the mercy of his solid body and those well-built arms wrapping around her. His mouth descends to her neck as his other hand also goes down, playing with her curls before easing over her, making her clench and whimper at how wonderful the feeling of him there is.

Pulling on her skin delectably with his lips and teeth, Sandor continues to subdue her into a whimpering mess with one rough, large hand grappling her soft, plump breasts and his other rubbing her, adding more and more pressure. When he rasps, "Sansa," it's almost too much. She cries, "Sandor, please."

As he breaks away from her and turns her back around, she’s pouting. Smirking as he cups her breast, "You begging now? Few minutes ago you didn't want me to touch you."

"But I want you so much," she tries to edge towards him.

"Then go get on your hands and knees, I want to feel you come around me," he nips her shoulder. 

She skips over to the bed, drawing off the coverlet, and climbs on top, doing as told. Sandor slides on a condom before coming behind her with a smack to her bottom, laughing cheerfully. "Ow," she complains, not finding it funny, especially with how exposed she feels in this position he seems to enjoy putting her in.

She gasps as she feels him at her entrance all of a sudden. One of his hands wraps around her hip to secure her while the other reaches for her clit, spreading her wetness around as he starts to enter. Feeling him stretching her while his thick fingers touch her, gently circling, sends exquisite shocks of pleasure through her, causing her breathing to deepen and become audible. "That's it girl," Sandor squeezes her hip as he starts to thrust, making her toes curl and eyelids tremble half-closed. _Gods, the man can fuck._

She barely recognizes her moans as the sounds come from her, and she feels Sandor's own rumbling through her, creating its own vibrations to add to her pleasure. At first disjointed, Sandor starts working his hand with his shallow thrusts into a rhythm that builds within her. Letting go of anything clouding her mind, she focuses on the feel of him coursing through, the want he's demonstrating for her. Nearly hypnotized by the lull of his consistency, the pleasure is overcoming her.

"Ahh," he cries louder, retreating to grab her other hip to pump further into her, losing his control from before. "Sandor," she pants his name, arching her back towards him as he pounds against her ass, sending her mind reeling with every drive. Her hands are clenched into the smooth white sheet to hold her ground against the wave of his force. He slows slightly, his hand focusing back on her sensitive spot. She can't focus, can't choose a better pleasure between his hand and his cock until she's falling between them both. Clenching and arching back, she feels the intense pleasure rush through her, warm, flowing, bursting wonderment. 

"Oh fuckkk," Sandor cries out, gripping her hip again as he thrusts into her walls tightening around him. Her moans are keening higher in pitch against his relentless surges penetrating her deeper and deeper. His frantic thrusts signal his own coming as he pushes to the limit, holding himself there as his hands grip harder into her flesh and he moans deeply. He finishes with more slow thrusts seeming to belabor leaving her warmth before withdrawing to fall next to her on the bed. She lowers to ease under his shoulder as they wait for their breaths to even out and they sink into the wonderful feeling of what they just did. Raising his arm up over his head, Sandor pants, "That was fucking amazing." Her lips smile, pleased as she nods against him, "Mhmm."

Then reality starts creeping back and she whines, "Ugh, now I have to shower." Sandor stops her from getting up, climbing over her to nuzzle her breasts, taking one in his mouth, how will she ever keep up with this insatiable man. She just hopes she's enough.

He stops to jokingly warn her, "Don't you dare complain. Not every woman gets that." He shifts up to press himself against her with a simmering hum. 

"I hope I'm the only one," she regrets the murmur from her lips.

"Oh, little bird, of course you are," he brushes off her bit of insecurity, but she hopes she's not a disappointment to him.

"Am I okay?" She looks up into his eyes, "Similar to the others?"

He breaths out hard, annoyed, "Sansa, you are everything. How can I think of another woman when I'm here with you? Do you know how gorgeous you are? And hells, you're mine Sansa, like none other. Put this away."

"Okay," she lets a small smile upturn her lips, reassured. Getting up for her shower, her mind hearkens back to what Sandor admitted to her mother. Marriage. He has considered marrying her one day! Like it's a possibility! She feels like a fool the way she’s smiling, getting the hot water started.

Still, she tries not to get carried, though a nagging part of her is terrified. She hadn't thought of their relationship like that, hadn't wanted to think of that since the distaste for it Joffrey left her with. Sandor had told her what Elder Brother had explained to him, and it eased her that it was a long-term sort of thing he saw as just part of relationship development. All normal, she reminds herself. 

She's out of the shower around the time she had planned to meet Petyr, though he hasn't responded to any of her texts. She gets into her poofy, little dress, tames her hair and applies makeup, and still no texts from Petyr. Sandor escorts her down with his hand round her waist, calling her a princess in her pretty dress, and drives her to the even. Kissing Sandor goodbye, she feels like she's floating along on clouds as she enters the establishment.

Arriving at the even, everyone is still mingling, so she grabs a glass of wine and hunts out Petyr. Spotting him, she heads his way, but he stays focused on his conversation, ignoring her when she calls his name. Perturbed, she takes her wine to a corner, surveying the area before she’ll have to find her seat for dinner. 

The minutes feel like hours, and she regrets even coming when Margaery Tyrell's smooth voice interrupts her thoughts. "Sansa, how lovely to see you. I didn't know you would be here." Sansa looks up from staring into her wine glass, surprised to see Margaery’s winning smile directed at her. "Of course, you haven't met my brother, Loras." A man as handsome as Margaery is beautiful steps in to offer his hand.

"Loras," she smiles with a nod, greeting him. Then she takes a sip of wine as if it’s nothing but it turns awkward, as she has to tilt back for the last bit to swim down the glass. _Gods, this is a nightmare._

"Whatever has you hidden away in this corner?" Margaery titters.

"My uncle has yet to forgive me for my lack of punctuality, I presume," she glumly notes, twirling her now empty glass in her hands.

"May I?" Loras points to her glass.

"Thank you," she accepts, "The Chardonnay," and he heads off.

"Your uncle takes a particular interest in you, does he not?" Margaery purses her lips in contemplation. 

"Usually," she shrugs, "I believe he wanted to introduce me to some people he works with."

"Oh yes with Capitol Financing," Margaery picks up, "Ghastly bunch." Sansa can't help but laugh, she’s always been weak in the face of Margaery’s charm.

Not paying attention, she doesn’t notice Petyr materializing suddenly next to her and taking hold of her arm, "The dinner is starting, dear, let me escort you." He addresses her friend, "Lady Margaery," with a nod as he draws her away. 

"But my wine," she starts, looking back at Margaery, but Petyr is cross, "There's plenty," then lowering his voice, "You better make it up to me, humiliating me by showing up late. Bad enough you couldn't leave that brute at home."

"Petyr!" She protests, stopping. 

"You will come to the Eyrie with me next weekend, Sansa, say yes," he demands. 

"I can't, it's Sandor's birthday," she responds. 

He seethes, "Fine, the weekend after, before break," and turns back, tugging her along to their table. 

Gods, she wishes she'd never left their hotel room. Though the dinner is grander than the gala in Maidenpool, Sansa barely eat the fine food, wanting it to be over, and only says what she must to be polite. Petyr is completely different, charming as ever he tries to cheer her up with dessert, even getting help from the table. Pulling out her phone, she texts Sandor to get there as soon as he can. _This is not worth it._

As the dinner concludes, Petyr suggests introducing her to some people, but she declines, preferring to go wait at the curb than be treated this way.

Petyr follows her out after a few minutes, “Sansa, I’m sorry,” he rests his hands on her shoulders, urging her to face him. Sansa turns to look at him, and then her eyes fall down.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he lifts her chin to smile at her, something like hope in his eyes. “Please come to the Eyrie, see your aunt. I want us to be close.” It warms her to hear him so contrite.

“I’m sorry I was late, Petyr, traffic, ya know,” she smiles at him. “Of course, I’ll come, can Sandor?”

“I’m afraid I need you to come on your own, so we can work on some things,” he looks hard-pressed to admit.

“Oh, is it about this summer?” she inquires.

“Yes,” he nods, smiling, before stroking down her arm, his eyes following as he continues, “This was important, but I know you will make it up to me.” He smiles one last time at her, patting her arm, before turning to head back into the party.

It’s only a few moments before Sandor arrives, and she’s surprised to see with company. The side door opens, and a blonde-haired man steps out, bowing and pronouncing with mirth, “Lady Sansa.” Her jaw drops when she realizes who it is, and then goes cold. _Why is Ser Jaime Lannister here with Sandor?_

Sensing her hesitation, he smiles, “I’m an old friend of your _boyfriend’s,_ didn’t he tell you?” Then she remembers it was Ser Jaime he saved when he got his injury.

Sansa sidles in next to Sandor, who lets her know, “We’re going back to Jaime and Brienne’s, alright? Fool wouldn’t let me leave without him in case I didn’t bring you back.”

“Oh,” is all she can formulate.

“Thought you’d be out longer?” he asks, glancing down at her as he turns the wheel back on the street.

“Yes, don’t these things go on?” Jaime butts in on their conversation.

“I wasn’t feeling well,” she admits, it is rather true.

“We won’t be out long then,” Sandor reassures her with a pat on the leg before he has to shift the throttle again.

Jaime makes small talk the whole way back, asking about her family, the North, and even gets into some of their time in the military to which she avidly listens. Getting into their house, he introduces her to his girlfriend, Brienne.

“Ice cream?” Brienne offers, and she’s surprised Sandor’s the first one to agree.

Sitting down in their living room, Sandor and Jaime look like two little boys with their heaping bowls, stopping only for brain freeze. She speaks up, “Thank you. It’s lovely to meet some of Sandor’s friends, especially from his time serving the realm.”

“Thank you, Lady Sansa,” Brienne smiles at her, flattered, while Jaime laughs, joking, “Hear that, babe, we’ve been promoted to friends.”

“Bastard,” Sandor lobs at his companion.

“Always knew you were jealous of my birth,” Jaime quips, and Sandor just scowls at him and sits back on the couch. Sansa smiles, seeing him like this, like how he was before she knew him.

“I think we may have some pictures of the unit, Sansa, if you would like,” Brienne mentions.

Sansa gasps, “Oh yes, how wonderful.” Brienne leaves to retrieve a folder. Sansa follows her into the kitchen where she scatters photos over the counter. Her hand jumps to one with Sandor at the edge of it, playing some sport with Jaime on a beach.

“Oh yes, they were so competitive,” Brienne comments, “Here’s the whole unit, there’s Clegane.” She points to the group of them in their combat gear, standing on point.

“Here’s the red wastes,” Brienne shows her a photo of the desolate wasteland, “Sandor was with us there. Not the best place to work,” she smiles to Sansa.

She sees a happy one of her with Jaime, and it makes her wonder, “So you met Jaime in the special forces.”

“Yes,” Brienne sighs, “Wasn’t until after the mission we all nearly died that I told him how I felt. I thought I was going to have to leave,” she huffs, “but he asked me on a date.” She shrugs. “I thought before you were only Sandor’s friend?”

“Yes, but I guess I didn’t really see it at first,” she feels like an idiot how her explanation is coming out, “but I almost lost him as my friend and feared losing him again, so I kissed him,” she giggles. “He was more than happy to reciprocate.”

Brienne nods, “He cares about you a great deal, even when he first mentioned you to us. He is a loyal brother. They may not seem close, but Jaime wouldn’t be here without Sandor’s bravery.”

She blinks at Brienne, not sure what to say, “I love him,” she admits, feeling a bit exposed.

Brienne swallows, looking back down at the photos, “Good,” nodding more likely to reassure herself than Sansa.

She walks back in the living room to ask, “Sandor, do you have any of these photos?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, turning around to look at her.

“I’ll have Brienne send the man some copies,” Jaime suggests. Brienne comes back in, settling in her armchair with some coffee, so Sansa retakes her seat as well.

“Sansa, I’m sorry about my nephew. He’s a little douchebag unfortunately,” Jaime announces.

“Yes, unfortunate,” she replies terse, not wanting to delve into this topic. She sees Sandor’s fist clench up, his anger at this subject evident already in his eyes.

“Sandor, there haven’t been any further incidents, have there?” Jaime takes a serious tone as he turns to his friend. He’s perceptive.

“Nothing new,” he spits out, standing. “Come, little bird, you said you weren’t well.”

“It was good to see you both,” Brienne smiles, standing to see them out.

“Yes,” Jaime agrees, narrowing his eyes at Sandor. “ Let me know if you need anything.”

“Oh, I have an appointment next month, might stop by,” he nods to them. An appointment in King’s Landing? Sansa is confused.

“Okay, right,” Jaime answers, and the two wave as Sandor and her head out into the brisk night.

Getting into the truck, she wonders, “Appointment?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing. The Elder Brother wanted me to see a doctor here,” he dismisses.

“Okay,” she is curious but doesn’t want to bother him.

She scoots next to him in the truck, shivering a little, smiling “Brrr,” next to him.

“Stay close,” he tells her with his soft, smiling eyes that make her feel like all is right. For now at least.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV: Birthday!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE Explicit scenes ahead! It is Sandor's Birthday after all :)

"What would you like to do today, birthday man?" Sandor hears her say as she woke next to him, all curled up in his sheets.

He moves over towards her, his large hand slinking down to slip between her legs. "Does this answer your question?" He teases with lazy circles along her cunt. Though tensing at first, she relaxes into his touch. Her pretty moans fill him with an undeniable satisfaction, and he's half a mind to hear them all day. 

She smiles at him, inching closer to press her lips to his, and her hand finds his hardening cock in the same breath. His deep hum reverberates between them, he's taught her well. "Such a good girl," he tells her as he runs his teeth across to her neck, sinking them into her soft flesh, so yielding. He quickens his movements below, relishing how quickly he can make her come undone for him. 

He nips her nipples lightly, making her gasp at the sudden contact, bringing them to attention, as he takes his place between her now slack legs. Running his hands over the smooth, long beauties, he straightens them up against him. His silly girl moves her foot to caress his face, and he pulls away, sparking her sweet laughter. He gives her a warning smack to her thigh before pressing against her entrance, halting her laughter as she gasps again. His eyelids weaken as he starts to slowly penetrate her. Every time is like the first time as he feels himself enveloped by her warmth. He'll never get enough. 

Her sweet face looks up at him, mouth open as she pants and moans to his rhythm, whimpering urgently when he finds her sensitive spots. His movements jostle her breasts, making them bounce in their fullness to each thrust deeper and deeper into her. Both of them are becoming slickened with sweat with his exertion.

Nearing the end, he leans heavily against her legs, contorting them towards her chest, holding onto the soft flesh with a harsh grip as he fucks her to his fullest. It isn't long before his pleasure is upon him, bursting as he pounds into her, draining him wonderfully as the languid after-effect takes hold, and he has no more to give. He sits back, laying her legs open to look her over, all fucked by him.

She starts to sit up on her elbows, but he warns her, "Stay," with a smirk, grabbing her ankles. He’s not done. 

"Since it's your birthday, I'll be good," she says in a playful tone. 

"You better always be good." He lowers, pinning her legs back with a bite to her thigh and keeping a firm grip on her ankles. He's not sure how much she likes this play, her neck seems the most sensitive to his attentions, but it's his duty to make sure his naive girl is exposed to all realms of pleasure. And he takes it seriously.

He brushes his nose in a circle on her thigh before moving up to her cunt. He laps at her, his own seed mixing with her juices, thank the gods for birth control medicine. He enjoys having her pinned down by her ankles as he sets to his task, feeling her squirm when the pleasure gets too much and her little sounds become urgent. When he feels her start to seize up, he pulls away, halting her buildup, just breathing on her swollen, wet cunt before starting again. By the next time, she has an edge to her voice as says his name, "Sandor, what are you doing? I was almost there." 

"I know," he smiles and feels her flinch when he gives her a teasing lick.

"You mean to torture me?" she whines. 

"With pleasure," he tells her in humor. He starts to please her again, denying her when she nears her release, and feeling her protest. But when he returns, he has her writhing and panting in want. Desperate, she presses herself against him as much as she can being held down, and he lets her ride herself to climax this time, feeling her jerk as it overcomes her, reverberating in waves through her body until she's still, her hard breathing the only movement. He releases her ankles then, and she stretches them out with a pinch of pain in her brow but a sated grin. He moves to her side, smirking as he surveys his handiwork. 

One eye peeks up at him, and she shifts weakly to lay against his skin. "Sandor," is the only speech she seems capable of, completely dazed like she could fall back asleep.

He draws her curves with his fingertips "The days wasting, little bird," he tells her.

"I'm sorry," she lifts her head only for it to fall back against his shoulder.

He chuckles, only messing with her. "No worries," he kisses her forehead and squeezes her against him. 

Once they're down having breakfast, he makes sure she gets her eggs and some coffee in her. She smiles, playfully hitting her foot against his leg in only a loose t-shirt of his. "I want to spend the whole day with you. But try not to wear me out again, or you may ruin one of your surprises." 

"Sansa, it's just another day. I told you not to do anything," he eyes her. She's been bringing up his birthday all week, asking him what he wants to do, his favorite things. He found one way to shut her up this morning.

"I know," she looks down at the table. Still acting like a puppy, Tess paws at her, trying to get to the table after food.

"No," he sharply calls out, pushing the overgrown pup back and giving her a stern look. "Sit. Stay." He orders her. She knows better than to try anything in front of him.

"We could take the dogs out to the bay," she suggests. "It's supposed to be warmer this weekend, and you always like that."

He smiles, amused at her attempts. "Why don't I play my game all day so you can study?"

He laughs watching her suppress a pout. "Fine," she stands up to take her plate to the sink.

Sandor pulls her right into his lap. "We'll do that, okay?" He smirks, looking her over. He loves holding her, knowing she's his more than anything. "You've already given me the best gift," he says, looking at his hands around her.

"I love you." She pulls herself to him with her arms around his neck to kiss him. He holds her tight though a nagging discomfort draws on him. A part of him says he's not the man who says he loves you and celebrates fucking birthdays and enjoys simple kisses. There's a killer inside him who will never let him live in the light but only look at it, like he's on the other side of the window, never a part. He grunts, nodding to her, and setting her down, saying he'll get ready. 

Thirty-two, he thinks with a harsh exhale, as he goes about his room, sorting his clothes. His girlfriend’s still nineteen, a baby in comparison. She’s had her troubles though, he admits, but still sometimes it’s as though a lifetime is between them. She couldn’t be sweeter, but he half expects her to move on at some point. Though he rarely went to the corner café, Rose had even shrugged the last time he stopped by, saying to hit her up when things ended as though she was certain they would.

He’d run into King’s Landing during the week for his appointment, telling Sansa it was for work. He had been annoyed to drive all day, especially after being there that weekend. Elder Brother had sent in his file a while ago for the surgeon to review. She looked at him strangely, the surgeon, almost as though trying to read him even before the exam. For that part, he tried not to flinch when she pulled and prodded all over his head with her latex-gloved hands.

She had given him a sad smile as she related what he already knew, “the scars didn’t heal correctly, hence the irregularities.” She outlined her strategy, pulling skin from elsewhere on his body being his safest bet. She even had a fucking model on the computer showing him how he would look after successful surgery.

He kept thinking about what Elder Brother had put to him. Would this be some victory for him, some reclamation of his self that the abuse had taken from him, to release himself from some of its power that will forever hold on him? Free him from the physical reminder of Gregor’s abuse and his deformed face to the world. Not that he will be whole again, but he’ll know that it’s not the scars he sees and feels or that they see but rather the reclamation.

He’d be recovering for weeks if it even worked. The surgeon was positive, but he was her project. He would be the one living with her results. He’s lived this long with them, does it matter so much? Thinking of Sansa, what she’s come to mean to him, it doesn’t seem worth it to take the risk. What would she think? He’s nearly talked to her about it, but he doesn’t want her to know. To know how deeply his scars run, even if she’s guessed at it.

After taking the dogs to run around the shore by the bay, Sansa takes a nap while he works more with Tess, considering it’s getting to the end of her training. She may not be his best work, but she is a sweetheart of a dog and will be a decent bomb-sniffer. When they’re done, she runs up, still wet from her rinse-off, to jump into bed with the little bird. She thinks she can get away with anything with the little bird, likely because she can. He’ll have to make sure her future master or mistress knows to keep tight discipline with her.

Following the dog up to his bedroom, he sees Sansa pulling out that garment bag she brought over. He walks up behind her, setting his hands on her hips and kisses the side of her head.

“I need to get ready,” she smiles with a hint of secrecy that excites him. “We’ll be going to the cafe. I know how you love their chicken.” She heads to the bathroom to ready herself. She’s accepted having a small stand mirror in there, and he’s glad she doesn’t try to force a wall mirror on him. He wonders if she’d always want to live like this though, maybe she wouldn’t have to.

He shrugs into something decent and heads downstairs to wait, turning on some Nomad. When she finally arrives, he glances toward her about to wonder at what took her so long only to be struck by the sight of her. She’s no little bird, all dressed up like a vixen in a tight, black dress. “I’m not sure I should let you out of the house,” he says with a gulp.

She laughs, shrugging into her coat. “At least don’t let me out of your sight then,” she smiles, heading towards him, each movement accentuating her hips in the tight skirt. Getting up, he pulls her close for a kiss before heading out.

Once seated at the restaurant, Sansa asks, “What were doing on your last birthday? Feels weird I didn’t know you then.”

He nods, “True. I don’t know, not sure I was here in Maidenpool yet.” Switching the subject, he reaches for her hand. “Do you have to go with your uncle next weekend? We’ll have to put off going to Winterfell for a few days just for you to go there. I don’t like it.”

“I know he was rude to you, but Petyr is a great mentor for me. He encourages me. He’s helping me learn business and politics,” Sansa says.

“He’s an asshole. I don’t like you going there, and I don’t like this summer thing you’re doing. Why can’t you be here?”

“Sandor,” she says, disappointed. “I might be here. I don’t know yet. We’re going to go over it soon. Why can’t I push myself to be more than just my birth? I need to learn these things, so I know how to best manage affairs for my future. I talked with Margaery some, and I think I need to consider being more ambitious like her. Petyr is helping me.”

Sandor sighs and tells her, “He’s probably trying to help himself some way, too, I’d wager. I swear he made a pass at your mother when we were here last.”

Sansa gasps, shaking her head at him. She’s quiet for some moments before speaking, “And you can promise me you did nothing when we were in King’s Landing?”

“Yes,” he says with a bite to his word. “Like I had time.”

“You went there this week as well,” she states.

“For work,” he reiterates. “Forget it’s my birthday, sweetheart?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, looking genuine.

“You look amazing,” he tells her. It’s a marvel to him, seeing her so sexy across from him. She’s coming out of her shell in front of him, and as much as he likes keeping this side of her to himself, there’s no shortage of pride he feels at having her at his side tonight.

“I just wanted to please you,” she gives him a shy smile, killing him with the stark contrast of her pale skin against the thin black straps.

“Don’t get me started before we even get home,” he smirks.

“We need to go by my house, for your gift, but we don’t have to stay there,” she lets him know.

“Alright,” he answers, and they finish up their meal. He noticed Sansa had ordered wine even though she usually doesn’t drink in front of him. Must be nervous about something.

Back at the apartment, she presents him with cupcakes she made, putting “S’s” on them and “32.” He bites one clean in half and pulls out a chair to sit casually, taking the plate with him.

“I’m going to bring out your gift. I couldn’t wrap it.” She disappears into her room. Just like her to do too much, he thinks. Hells, he’ll have to start planning her birthday soon to get it right.

Having another cupcake, his eyes narrow as Sansa is having some difficulty carrying something out of her room. He gets up to help her, immediately recognizing what has her struggling, a sword! He takes it from her hands, pulling it clear of its scabbard to marvel at the sharp steel. A long sword, he’d wager. It has a simple design with a black hilt and round pommel. He wonders if it’s ever cleaved a man as he runs his hand down the blade, testing the sharpness.

“I brought it back from Winterfell.” He gives her a sharp look at that. “We have a lot of swords from over the years, Sandor. I want you to have one.”

“It’s beautiful,” he says, awed by her gift but not enough to stop him from tilting it and slicing the air a bit. He glances to Sansa to see her beaming at him. The sword he sheathes back, setting it by the door. He’ll have fun with that later. Turning to Sansa, he approaches her, pushing back her hair and kissing the side of her face and then her lips. “Thank you for all this,” he tells her with a slight smile. His hands go down to outline her waist, his eyes on her hips, and she seems to tremble slightly. He smirks, “Your killing me with this dress, girl.”

A nervous smile breaks across her lips. “There was something else I wanted to do, but I’m afraid you’ll think I’m silly.”

“What is it?” he asks, his curiosity piqued.

“A dance,” she says, looking at him under those long lashes with her sweet blue eyes.

“You want to dance?” he asks. She had taught him some time ago, which he mostly used as an excuse to get close to her.

She steels her posture, looking at him, she tells him, “Go sit back in the chair.” He does as he’s told, watching her go set her phone in her player, starting a song. It was similar to those she played when they danced, slower but still with a beat. She knows he’s not crazy about her pop music.

Her back to him, his eyes go wide as her right hand deftly moves to slowly unzip her dress. Turning to him, she takes a step forward, slinking out of her straps and folding the top of her dress over to reveal her little black bra. She swivels her torso for a moment before turning back around. He’s frozen with amazement though his cock hardens as she bends over, wiggling the dress over her round ass, exposing the pale cheeks and tiny black thong only distinguishable by the bow at the top. Standing back up she kicks the dress from her ankles, deftly in her sleek, black heels.

Her hands on her hips, she takes the few steps toward him to the rhythm of her song. Her hands going to his shoulder, she lowers herself with a seductive arch of her back, giving him a view along her back to that sexy ass. She moves back up and her breasts just barely touch his chest as she presses a quick kiss before spinning around. She bends over, teasing him with the view of her butt, but he grabs a hold of that bow, unraveling it and throwing her off. Then his hands are on her hips to pull her into his lap. She squeaks, saying his name, “Sandor!”

He presses her against him and curses his clothes for separating from her so sexy like this. After futile attempts to grind into her, he allows her to stand. Following suit, he starts to take off his clothes. Seeing Sansa’s eyes go wide, he smirks, “What did you expect? Think I’d wait till I got you home?”

He moves to grab her, but she evades him. “Back in the chair,” she tells him, and her command somehow excites him even more. He likes seeing her exert her own power in their exchange. Soon he’ll get her to love being on top. If she can do this, hells, there’s not much she can’t as far as he’s concerned.

Sitting back down, Sansa’s hands go behind her as the music plays on, and he grins seeing her remove the little bra to reveal those sweet breasts of hers falling slightly. Her hands then go to her hip, and she slips them under the strap. Bending gracefully, she successfully removes them, kicking them off. Approaching him again, she goes straight to straddle him and grinds against him, relieving his ache for her. His hands dig into her hips and fleshy backside to press her to him. Her nipples rub against his chest and her arms are wrapped around his neck. She continues to grind along his shaft with vigor and starts her little whimpers of pleasure.

His lips draw on her neck, increasing her sounds, and he lifts her hips to sheathe him in her. Finding her entrance, he slowly lowers her back down, his eyes drooping at his favorite pleasure. He clasps hard on her hips as he helps her move against him. She uses her arms around his neck for leverage as she moves with his hands, forgetting the rhythm of the music, eager as they are to create their own with each other.

Soon, the position shows its limits, and frustrated, Sandor supports Sansa as he stands, coming out of her and carries her, still straddling him to the bed. She smiles at him, pressing a kiss to his chest during the short journey. Lowering to the bed over her, Sandor takes the moment to arouse her more with his mouth, widening her thighs with his strong hands to pin them back. He continues his ministrations with his fingers as he places his cock back at her entrance.

Her back arches and she moans as he penetrates her again, calling his name out. He courses through her with his fingers rubbing her nub, seeing her hands and feet curl up at the pleasure. He continues doing this until her body can’t take it anymore, and her orgasm comes with his name again on her lips. He thrusts deeper into her as he feels her clinch again and again around him. He fucks her hard now, his body completely against hers and his eyes boring into her half-closed ones. He loves feeling her whole body rub against him with each thrust, seeing her red hair splayed out, and her face overcome with pleasure from him.

“Say my name,” he tells her.

She softly says, “Sandor, I love you,” repeating it again stronger until he finally succumbs to his own release at the call of her sweet voice. Panting, he falls to her side, his arm reaching out to pull her against him. She curls into him, her own breathing heavy. After a few minutes of rest, Sansa sits up on her elbow, pecking his cheek, “Happy Birthday.” He chuckles and squeezes her against him more with no worries in the world.

“We’re still going back to my house,” he eyes her with a grin. She laughs now, rolling her eyes but soon a yawn escapes. “Better soon before you fall asleep here,” he nudges her up to leave. Gathering his gift and biting into another cupcake, they head back to his blasted pink house.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter the Eyrie!


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: Visit to the Eyrie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence and Petyr creepiness. See note at end for catalog of Petyr actions if this is sensitive for you.

Looking away more on impulse than decency, Sansa is surprised at how her aunt threw herself at Petyr upon their arrival, barely taking note of her. When Petyr manages to break away, he gestures to her, "Your niece."

"Aunt Lysa," she smiles wide and hugs her, then her younger cousin, Robert. 

Lysa remarks, "You look more like Catelyn now."

"Yes, people say I favor my mother," she smiles, a bit confused at the face her aunt is giving her. She almost seems disoriented.

"Tea," Petyr takes Lysa's arm, "then, I must work with Sansa on some important plans I've been putting off."

"Oh," Lysa responds, her smile returning with Petyr's attention.

Tea is not what she expected. Lysa seems to ask her questions only to supply a superior answer, and every time Sansa turns conversation toward her family, Lysa huffs as though unimpressed. Surely she's interested in how we've been after all this time, Sansa wonders taking a lemon poppyseed muffin. By the second time she insults her father, she nearly loses her composure though.

Instead she brings up Sandor, a subject Lysa is nearly giddy to hear about before being confused over his lack of noble standing. "He does have lands," she tries to point out.

Her aunt's answer, "But weren't you engaged to the crown prince?" puts ice in her veins. 

"It was not to be," she says, taking a sip of tea.

Petyr thankfully suggests time for their planning session, so she follows him to his office. "Your aunt can be difficult at times," Petyr says by way of explanation. "Her mind is often affected by her trying health." Sansa can't help but wonder at the question of her aunt's health. The frailty of years of illness she prepared herself for is not evident. Her aunt even seems to possess a vigor, especially for her husband, that she exhibits wholeheartedly.

Entering his office, she marvels at the beautiful room with vaulted ceiling and dark mahogany bookcases and furnishings. "You can see why I enjoy coming back here when I can," he smiles at her. 

She returns his smile and adds, "And of course, my adoring aunt." His eyes dim slightly as he pulls a chair out for her at the table before take a place across from her. 

"I haven't meant to keep you in the dark, sweet one, but what I tell you now is to be a secret. I don't want to confirm rumor until I'm prepared. As you know I have a position with the government treasury and serve on the board of directors of some high-profile corporations in Westeros." She nods, listening intently. He'll mention anecdotes in class. Petyr steeples his hands on the table, pointing to her as he continues, "I'm planning on running for office. I will represent the Vale, and I hope to become a cabinet minister. I want you by my side this summer to travel the Vale with me for my campaign." 

She's surprised he would want her for this. Probably looking dumbstruck, she hustles to say, "What an honor."

He smiles genuinely at that, "I knew you would support me," he takes her hand. She gets a strange feeling as his fingers caress her. He must see her puzzled look at her hand in his as he continues, "Sansa, I know it may seem strange, but I've gotten to know you since you came to Maidenpool. You've grown into such a beautiful, bright young woman. Just like Cat. I think it's time to put aside obstacles and be together. The time is now for us." 

She pulls out of the tight grip on her hand. She can't help but heighten her voice to say, "You're married to my aunt!"

He waves his hand, "It might as well be over."

"I love Sandor," she says next, shocked to her core, "and I would never...with you." She gets up to charge out, but he grips her arm, holding her back, a wild look in his eyes.

He says to her with frustration brimming, "Did you know he's taken a new position in the Westerlands? He'll leave you before the end of the semester." What!? He takes advantage of her momentary confusion to push further, "He's taken what he's wanted, and he'll leave you to pick up the pieces without as much of a word, he may already be gone."

"No, no, no," she shakes her head desperately. 

He takes her weakened state to pull her to him. She shudders at his hands around her as he tells her, "I'll never do that to you."

Summoning all her strength, she stomps on his foot and pushes away from him to finally press through the double doors to find her room. 

Once there, she locks the door behind her. She's shaking as she fumbles with her phone and tries to call Sandor. Hearing the dial, she winces when he doesn't pick up. Must be working with the dogs on the isle already, the rational part of her mind explains, but she needs to hear his voice to know it’s not true.

Though she thought of skipping it, Lysa insists she join them for dinner. She can't even look at Petyr and feigns tiredness to go to her guest room immediately afterwards.

She's only picked up her phone to see if Sandor's called when she hears a knock on her door. Cracking the door open, she's not surprised to see a sulking Petyr. 

"May I come in?" He raises his brows.

She looks down, thinking but not moving, feeling the heightened trembling return from earlier.

"I promise I won't touch you," he says, seeming sincere.

She opens to him but stays standing near the door. There in front of her, he holds his hand out, his palms open towards her, "Sansa, I could give you so much. Imagine the lady you would become, hosting events, running charities. You'd rival the queen. You were born for it. You're giving all that up being with that soldier who's leaving you."

"Stop," she simply says. 

His face twists in a way that scares her, and he steps closer, making her step back. He grimaces further and says, "I didn't want to have to do this, dearest, but you must understand." She flinches and pulls away, worried he'll break his promise, but his words cut deeper than any touch. "I happen to have a copy of a video that if the identity of the woman was made known to the press could compromise her greatly."

She gasps, her eyes opening wide in realization.

The corner of his mouth curls cruelly as he chuckles, "You know of what I speak."

"How dare you," she says, hurt and seething.

"You will be mine, Sansa. You were meant for me." His eyes bore into hers, sending a shiver through her. He's made his threat clear. "Think about it," he says and leaves abruptly.

She sinks to the hard floor, numb at first but then her tears come. And when they do, they have her sobbing as she remembers that horrid video, and how everything has been ruined. His words about Sandor leaving her come to the forefront next, leaving her gulping for air as though it would kill her. As if he knows, her phone starts to vibrate, and she sees his name, so dear to her.

"Sandor," she says as if a prayer, bracing herself for the end. 

"Little bird," he says, worry clear in his voice. 

She gasps for air between another sob, "Please tell me you aren't leaving me."

"Why would I do that? What happened?" He asks, bewildered.

"Please tell me you aren't,” she says, desperate.

His voice is urgent, "I'm not leaving you. What is wrong?"

"He said you were going to work in the Westerlands."

"Who?"

"Petyr." His name wounds her to say.

Sandor curses, "Fucking uncle, how does he know?" 

"You are?" she gasps.

"No, I'm not. There was a position offered to me, but something wasn't right. I didn't take it," he explains.

"I wish you'd told me," she says softly.

"I wasn't going to take it and didn't want to worry you. I knew that uncle would try to turn you against me." She's quiet, trembling at how much more there is to it. How deep this is, she can barely process it. He continues, "What is going on there? I didn't want you to go, and I'm coming there now."

"Sandor, I don't want you driving at night, come in the morning. I don't think I can stay here another day. I'll be fine tonight."

"Okay," he answers, and she almost wishes he'd insist. "You're sure you're okay?"

No, I'm not okay, she wants to say, but instead says, "I'll be fine. We'll talk tomorrow when I have a clearer head." 

"Okay, Goodnight, little bird,” he tells her.

“Goodnight, baby, I love you,” she says, trying to steal what more of his strength she can before hanging up.

“You too,” he tells her before hanging up.

She straightens her hair and wipes her face, huffing a laugh at the contrast between the gorgeous room she’s in and what has taken place. She gets up, turns off the main light, favoring the bedside lamp before climbing into the soft bed and arranges all the pillows behind her and the duvet over her. It still feels empty, but she escapes into a new book on her phone, reading until she falls asleep.

Deep into the night, she’s startled awake and squints through the light from the bedside lamp she left on. Soon she’s glad considering the shadow of a figure she sees entering her room. Petyr! She’s alarmed that he would return at the dead of night, but then her eyes adjust, and she sees clearly her aunt coming towards her.

“Aunt Lysa?” She questions, trying to sit up.

Her aunt sits down on the bed looking at her strangely, “You’re such a pretty, young thing.”

Sansa opens her mouth but does not know how to respond to the compliment of sorts.

Her aunt stuns her with her next statement. “The prince wasn’t good enough, you had to throw yourself at my Petyr,” her eyes turn hard, glowering at her.

“You don’t understand. He…” she starts, but her aunt slaps her right across the face.

Lysa goes on, “Don’t lie to me, you whore. I heard you. I heard you with Petyr behind my back.” Sansa’s mouth is ajar, speechless. She has a hand on her cheek, still hot from the blow. She realizes suddenly there’s no reasoning with the woman, she’s delusional and starts to panic.

“I won’t let you take him from me,” her aunt grabs one of the pillows she’d pushed to the floor and comes for her. Sansa immediately reacts, flailing in the covers, and pushing and pulling at Lysa’s relentless drive to smother her.

The jarring, loud voice yelling, “Lysa!” stops her, and Sansa pushes the pillow away from her and pants looking over at Petyr in her doorway. With an overwhelming desire to escape, she eyes her phone and gauges her exit strategy.

She hears Lysa argue, “You want this daft girl!” Petyr nears her aunt, grabbing her arms to restrain her. Sansa slips out of the bed, grabbing her phone and heads for the door.

She glances back to see Lysa break free from Petyr, screeching, “Get her.”

Sansa runs down the hall outside her bedroom and heads for the entrance. She can hear Petyr yelling behind her, and she’s not sure how close her aunt is but only wants to escape this gods-forsaken castle. She takes the steps two at a time down the grand marble staircase, praying to the gods she doesn’t slip. She’s down the stairs and near the entrance hall when she hears the scream and the accompanying thuds. She can barely register her own screaming, feeling outside herself watching the scene unfold, when she turns to see her aunt’s body, limp at the base of the stairs behind her.

Her eyes fixed to her aunt’s unconscious body, it’s not until Petyr passes through her vision that it breaks her out of the trance. “Are you okay? I’m calling an ambulance,” he tells her though it barely registers, and he shakes her slightly.

“She tried to kill me,” Sansa says in shock. Looking down to the phone still in her grip, she realizes she’s shaking all over again but from an even worse horror if possible. She looks to Petyr, “Is she alive?”

He moves to feel for a pulse, not moving her. He shakes his head, and one of Sansa’s hands goes to her throat, holding it in shock. She stands there, still, as the ambulance arrives, and the emergency technicians try to resuscitate her and fail. Finally, breaking herself from the scene, she walks outside to call Sandor, telling him to come immediately. From the entrance, she watches the flashing lights of the ambulance and police car bounce off the castle she was so charmed by and fade out into the dark sky.

“Miss,” an officer comes up to her, “I need your account of what happened.”

“Can it wait until tomorrow?” she asks.

He nods, then asks, “Can you confirm your name please?”

“Lady Sansa Stark,” she answers.

“Date of birth?”

She provides this information, and he finally leaves her be. It’s only a few more minutes staring out into nothingness until Petyr comes out to her. She sidesteps the arm he tries to put around her.

“I’m sorry about Lysa,” he tells her.

“You could’ve told me what kind of ill she was,” Sansa says, sharp with her words.

“I would’ve never thought she’d act like this toward her own niece,” Petyr sounds genuinely unsettled, but she can’t overlook the events earlier this evening. She can’t pity him.

“I’ll call my mother,” Sansa tells him and walks away.

She heads back to the police officer, “Can you take me to a hotel? I can’t stay here.” He gives her a strange look before nodding, so she heads back in. She stops in her tracks, seeing Lysa’s body being zipped up in a bag. She takes a steadying breath before continuing to her room. She must get out of here.

A number of other police officers are taking pictures and looking around. One’s even in her room when she gets there. “Officer Penhurst,” she holds out her hand, and she takes it.

“Lady Sansa Stark,” she answers.

“She was in here?” She asks her, cutting to the chase as she looks at the various pillows.

She steadies herself and attempts to answer, “I was staying in here. My aunt came to me in the night and used this pillow to try and smother me before I ran away from her.” She hands the officer the pillow. It looks like a normal pillow, hardly rumpled more than the others even from its previous sinister purpose. She would recognize it out of a hundred though.

The detective nods to her warily, seeming surprised by her account, but takes the pillow and asks, “Have you given a statement?”

“I will in the morning,” she tells her, “Can I take my things?” The detective looks through her bag quickly before giving her the okay. Hopefully, they won’t think anything’s funny.

When he sees her carrying her bags, Petyr accosts her, “Sansa, you can’t leave.”

“Yes, I can,” she tells him, trying to avoid more conversation than necessary.

“Is there a problem, sir?” The police officer eyes Petyr and helps her with her belongings.

“No,” Petyr grimaces at her, but she walks away from him and gets into the police car.

Checking into the hotel, she texts Sandor where she’s at, hoping it’s not too much longer until he arrives. She decides not to call her mother until the morning considering the late hour. Pulling out her phone, she tries to read but the images and last words of her aunt keep coming up. Blaming her for Petyr. It was a horrible day that turned into a worse night.

She doesn’t know what to do about Petyr. What if he really releases the video, and it’s on all the new channels? Will people really even know the truth of the video? That she didn’t want it. Her parents can never know. She sighs, knowing she could never be with him but not sure how to make it go away. Then she starts thinking of school – she’s taking two of his classes! How’s she going to manage passing if she doesn’t go along with him? Another year incomplete.

Sansa takes a shower, letting the warm water wash over her, and soon Sandor is at the door. She rushes into his arms and wraps hers around his neck as he picks her up and kisses her.

“You aunt died?” He asks as if he can’t believe the short conversation they had earlier.

“Please just hold me, and I’ll explain in the morning,” she pleads.

He frowns but nods, and they climb into bed. She may not sleep, but she now has Sandor.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petyr comes on to her, grabs her, tries to coerce her with knowledge of the video mentioned before of her rape. No kissing or sexual touching.


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV: Lysa's Funeral

Sandor's surrounded by all the Starks now, even some Tully's, as Sansa's aunt's funeral takes place. Catelyn had flown in the day after her death, Ned and Sansa's siblings following after another day. At least Sansa has them staying in the hotel instead of the castle with everyone. 

He sits uncomfortably in the sept, first time he can remember in forever, as Sansa's at her mother's side and waits to get the ceremony over with, eyeing the casket at the front and her uncle next to it, receiving guests. Strange affair her aunt falling to her death down a flight of stairs. Would've thought the police'd do an autopsy or something rather than release the body for burial so quick. Sansa said she was running from her of all things that the woman was crazy mad and tried to kill her. She didn't offer more than that, clearly shaken as she is by the event. Still, something is bugging him that her uncle has to be involved somehow, especially after she had called him upset, thinking he was leaving her, only to later call that her aunt has died. There's no reason in all seven hells Petyr should know about that job offer either. He isn't blind to the cold tremble Sansa now has toward the man. 

Sansa comes to sit beside him, Arya on her other side as some music starts up. He pulls her in close, and she tucks herself next to him, saying, "Sorry." He kisses her temple. She's so pale and cold to the touch, and it's not just the chill of the mountains. 

After the ceremony, they make their way to have her aunt interred at the Eyrie, then have a reception in a large hall. 

As they enter, Petyr approaches Sansa, saying, "I need to speak with you, Sansa."

"No," she says so softly he could barely hear her. 

"Sansa," Petyr urges, reaching for her arm. 

"You heard her," he says too loud, drawing attention, as he steps in front of her. Petyr smiles, surprisingly smug and turns away. 

Sandor turns back to Sansa, "Are you okay? We can go." She swallows and nods, and the rest of her family is soon there to bother her about it.

"What's going on?" Arya comes up, looking at him, too. He shakes his head at her, hoping she gets the hint to shut up. 

Ned glares at him, thinking somehow this is his fault, and her older brother, Robb's expression matches his. He'd been very upset to know Sansa and he were sharing a hotel room. Cat is looking off to where Petyr went with a shrewd expression, she knows what that bastard's made of. 

Arya draws his attention back, "Will you be coming back to Winterfell with us tomorrow?"

"We got to get our things in Maidenpool first since we didn't plan on all this," he tells her. 

She nods, "Was thinking you could bring your system, and we could break in the new DLC for Nomad. Ya know, Sansa can spend time with her mom then."

"Good idea," he admits. 

"I'm sure there'll be some Wintertown shopping trips we'll have to avoid," she says.

"We might get back to Maidenpool tonight, I don't want to be here any longer," he tells Arya as Sansa edges back towards him when her mother heads off to see some other family member likely.

She addresses Arya, "Could you come back to the hotel with us? I need to talk to you about something." 

"Sure," Arya shrugs. "Let's eat."

He fixes a towering platter of catered fare and sits down with Sansa and her siblings. As he eats, he tries to drown out Sansa's conversation with whatever young woman came with Robb since she seems to gush over him. At least the little bird doesn't carry on like that.

"Nice to meet the famous Sandor," the boy next to him quips, drawing his gaze. 

"Bran, right?" He remembers. The boy nods.

"Usually known for another name," he tells him.

"Your name's not usually heard at the house, but it's hanging in the air whenever Mother mentions my sister at the dinner table. Still, would've loved to be there when you were all tripped on mushrooms meeting my dad," he says with a smile. "Was it worth it?"

"Oh, is that how the little she-wolf tells it?" He laughs, remembering that trip. "For one, we were sober by the time we got out of jail."

"Like that makes it any better," Bran laughs. 

"True, it was shitty all around," Sandor snorts. "Can't blame him. I'd probably be the same with my daughters. Not the best impression."

"Yeah," Bran says, "It was definitely tense when it came out that you were together. I thought Dad was going to have Sansa move back home. He didn't want her so far away after the break up with the prince anyway. Arya hid her XBox for a week." He laughs at that though the mention of Joffrey makes his jaw clench. 

"I wish she'd tell them," Bran looks at him clear and knowing, making him feel peculiar. 

"Bout what?" He sounds a shade too harsh. 

"About what really happened instead of running away to Maidenpool," Bran looks instead towards Sansa, still chirping away happily with the other girl.  He didn't think Bran knew, wasn't sure how much Arya knew. Still his gut twists, and it isn't the rich food. Too much is left unsettled with her. He'll never be completely settled while his brother draws breath, in that he understands. 

"Maybe she will yet," he turns to Bran who nods. The boy is an old soul. 

He hates to leave Sansa, but he gets up to find her mother. She's with Ned unfortunately. "Would like a word, Catelyn." He tells her.

"Address her according to her station." Ned responds. 

"I have told him he can address me thus," she tells her husband. "Please can you speak with both of us." She asks him.

He hesitates, pursing his lips before asking, "Are you aware of Sansa's version of events?" 

"Must you speak of it today?" Catelyn surprises him with her offense. 

He has his own anger though and says in a low, dangerous tone, "If you knew she was mad, why didn't you warn your daughter?" Catelyn looks struck.

"Clegane, you'd do better to watch your mouth." Ned looks at him with disgust, moving to block his wife. "I will not have you under my roof treating my wife and girls like this."

"What is it?" He hears Sansa's sweet, light voice full of worry. 

"Apologize to my wife," Ned demands.

He hates it, but he knows he must. "I'm sorry, Lady Catelyn," he tells her, looking into her eyes.

"I didn't know she could be violent, Sandor," she gives him an answer. "I'm sorry, Sansa," Catelyn tugs her daughter into an embrace, and Ned rubs the little bird's back. Evidently Catelyn already holds guilt about it, but he hated Sansa was exposed to such danger. What if she had fallen down the stairs instead or been pushed? The thoughts and worry had consumed him, and he had hardly let her out of his sight since getting here.

Pulling away, Sansa tells her parents, "We're going back to the hotel and taking Arya. We'll bring her back her before we leave for Maidenpool. We'll see you home tomorrow evening then." She offers a thin smile. 

"Alright," they tell her, and though it takes forever, Sansa says her goodbyes to the rest of her family members. They head back to the hotel with Arya.

"Can you at least make some effort to get along with my father when we are in Winterfell?" Sansa says as soon as they're in the truck. Arya laughs in the cab.

"I don't know if we ever will," he sighs. At least he has mutual respect with Catelyn at this point, but she can't expect everything to meet her expectations.

"Hard to get beyond bailing us out of jail with our dad," Arya says amused.

Sansa huffs, wringing her hands, clearly discouraged before saying in a sad tone, "Of all things, you can't simply get along with my father."

He reaches over for her hand, "I'll try. Okay, little bird?" He tells her, and he'll do just that if only to make this visit go easier. 

"Maybe go hunting, with guns and all that," Arya laughs at her implication it could go badly for him.

"Would he take me to see some of your land?" He asks, would be good to get out.

"I'll ask him," the little bird perks up a little now she has a task towards her goal.

Getting to the hotel room, he can tell Sansa is nervous. "You want me for this?" He asks her.

"Yes." She tells him but focused elsewhere.

Sitting in conference with what chairs came with the room, Sansa begins, "I need to tell you something, but you two have to promise not to do anything drastic or on impulse without my approval first."

"Is this Joffrey?" Arya pipes up, and he glares at her.

"Not really," Sansa says and that has him even more worried.

"Do you promise?" Sansa asks.

"Yes," he tells her.

"Alright," Arya begrudgingly says.

Sansa takes a deep breath, averting her eyes. "I need help from the both of you. The night our aunt died, our uncle kind of blackmailed me."

Arya exclaims, "What?" But he's shaking his head, muttering, "that bastard." He knew he was involved.

"He said he has the video, and he would release it to the tabloids as a sex tape," she says, clearly upset. He's upset she waited to tell him, but his hands fist to think he was in the same room as that fucker earlier. 

"What does he want?" Sandor asks though it's starting to become clear, and he desperately hopes it's not that.

"Me," she looks down at her hands. "He tried to convince me that you were leaving me, and" she shakes her head. 

"There's no reason he would know about that other position in the Westerlands unless he was trying to get rid of me," Sandor blurts out, and rage is starting to heat his veins. That sick fuck, his own niece.

Sansa sniffles but looks up at him with a nod. 

Arya's jaw has fallen open, "Wait, what?"

"Arya," Sansa looks to her sister, "He wants me to be with him romantically." He's amazed at her patience to explain to Arya. 

"And the summer thing?" Arya asks, clearly having a hard time processing the truth he knows and wishes desperately weren't real.

"He's going on campaign for public office. He wants me with him." She explains.

His poor little bird, how could he be so blind, he runs his hands through his hair. He clearly had eyes for her mother when she visited...and Sansa looks just like her. His eyes go wide at the realization. Not thinking, he says, "It's because you're so much like your mother. I knew he liked her at that restaurant. I swear he made a pass at her and that's why we left that night."

Sansa's looking at him strangely. Arya says, "That's fucking creepy. Twisted as fuck. Oh gods." She gets up and starts to pace.

Another thought comes to him, but he doesn't say it. Lysa was probably going to die soon one way or another.

"Lysa thought I was stealing him from her on purpose when she attacked me. She really wanted to kill me." Sansa tells them next. "You know the rest."

"What haven't you told the police?" He asks her.

"I didn't tell them about my uncle, about her jealousy." She says, then asks desperately, "Is there some way to destroy the video? It can't be made more public."

"Might be," Arya says, "I didn't bring any gear, but I'll try and sneak into his office tonight."

"That's a start," he says, trying to think through scenarios. He looks over at how defeated she looks, "I'm sorry, little bird. We'll figure it out. I would first like to pound him into a wall."

"Please," Arya pipes up.

"You know I don't want you getting in trouble," Sansa says sharply.

He nods, and he knows she's right. Little bugger has been probably expecting it. No wonder Sansa didn't tell him till they're about to leave, he couldn't have stood on ceremony with that fucking Petyr without punching his lights out. He'll want to kill him next time he sees him. Now he knows what's really been bothering her.

 "Double funeral would've been better," Arya says bitterly. "We'll get him somehow, San, there's got to be a way." 

"There's no way I can be with him," she says so sad it hurts him.

"And there's no way I'm letting that happen," he pulls her into his lap despite Arya's presence. He needs her next to him.

She nods against his shoulder, but Arya disrupts them, "Are we done? I mean, this sucks, San, and I'm really sorry. We'll work on it in Winterfell." Sansa gets up to pack their things, and they take Arya to the Eyrie. As much as he wants to have a minute with her uncle, he drives away, respecting her wishes as they head back to Maidenpool. 

Down the road, she scoots over to lay her head on his shoulder and sighs. "I just want it to all go away," she says softly.

"I know," he tells her, wishing it would. He thought it had. "Thought about talking to your parents anymore?" He asks.

"I don't want them to ever know," she says almost wistful. He sighs, not sure what to tell her, and continues on down the road. At least they have tonight at home in his own bed together before they head to Winterfell tomorrow.

 


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: Winterfell

Arya and her laugh at the pile of their huskies in the yard the morning after Sandor and Sansa arrive. Lady is happy to find her place amongst her siblings. The clear ring of her laughter belies the unease within her, especially after Arya’s update yesterday.

“You really didn’t find anything?” Sansa asks her sister.

“I told you he has a sophisticated encryption system. I couldn’t have gotten even into the computer without Bran, but then we couldn’t access any files,” Arya reiterates.

“Why is Bran involved?” She eyes Arya.

“I told him some things. He’s helped me out,” Arya tells her, and it angers her for her sister to break her confidence. “And he can keep a secret,” Arya adds, smiling to persuade her.

“Arya,” she says her name, frustrated, before calling her dog, “Lady, to me.” Lady whimpers, so Sansa decides to leave her to her play.

“Wait, San, we have an idea of sorts.” Arya calls her.

“We,” she says derisive, “Tell me later.” Then, she heads back into the house and to the dining room.

Sandor’s there, already dressed for the day, taking his breakfast, and sitting across from her mother. “How are you?” She asks, sitting down beside him.

“Alright,” he frowns, picking up his coffee and not looking her direction. She purses her lips at his demeanor – it’s his fault he had to drive the whole time.

“Mr. Grumpy,” she whispers to him with an elbow, earning her a look from him that makes her smile in its stubbornness. Oh Sandor, how did she fall in love with such a man?

“Mother,” she directs across the table, “Father is coming home for the weekend, yes?”

“Yes, dear, he’s sorry he can’t be here,” Catelyn smiles to her.

“It’s alright,” she smiles back. “We should all go to Wintertown today. I would like to show Sandor around.”

“Shopping?” He asks, looking between them, wary.

“That’s not everything,” she says.

“Why don’t you show me around the castle first? Like you said.” He replies.

“Of course,” she says.

“We have several days,” her mother points out with a grin. “I’m sure you are both tired from your drive.”

“Thank you, Catelyn.” Sandor tells her mother. The growing ease between them is a relief. It’s strange having him here, like two different worlds of hers, and she’s not sure how to act with him here. She’d also hate for him to be bored and regret coming.

“Mother, did you ask Father about showing Sandor the Winterfell lands?” She reminds her mother.

“Yes, Sansa, Robb will be here, too. They’ll make a day of it.” Her mother points out. She will start praying day and night that outing goes well.

“You’ll be there, right?” Sandor asks her.

“If you wish it,” she tells him with a smile.

After breakfast, she takes him around the castle, pointing out the architecture and historical significance of some rooms. He’s impressed by the swords displayed in the halls. “See, it’s not a big deal I gave you a sword,” she points out to him.

“I can see that. Still, I like it, and it’s different from these,” he runs his finger over one mounted on the wall.

“Yes, it’s earlier, from the War of the Five Kings. I remember you were interested in that period.”

“My thoughtful little bird,” he says. His hands move to either side of her neck, edging into her hair to cradle her face in his hands. It feels so wonderful, she sighs, looking up to him with all the love she feels. He bends to kiss her soundly, but it only makes her want more.

“Would you have liked that?” He smirks at her, running his thumb over her jaw line, “To be kept safe with my sword?”

She smiles but has to admit, “I don’t think I’d prefer it. What if something happened to you? I’d be on my own without my protector. Hard times for a woman, even one of high birth.” He nods, understanding her. She continues, “Do you really think you could do that? To hack someone with a sword? Such a grisly act.” She screws up her nose, the thought bothered her. Sandor averts his eyes from hers quickly, staying silent. It makes her wonder.

“I’m sorry,” she starts to say, but he moves his hand to her elbow, telling her, “Come, little bird, show me what else there is? Any towers where I can have my way with you?” She knows he’s jesting, but the thought still quickens her pulse.

They decided to do Wintertown another day. Still, Sandor had told her Arya wanted him to play Nomad with her, so she left them to their own devices for the afternoon. She went out to the glass greenhouse on the property to survey her mother’s flowers. Her mother had already placed a bouquet of winter roses in her room. Walking back, she can see the tulips just starting to bloom in the gardens, so she picks several for her mother. She spends the rest of the afternoon with her mother, catching up on their favorite shows.

After dinner, Arya suggests a horror movie marathon, much to her annoyance. Despite her protests, Sandor seems set on it as well as Bran. Her mother has no interest either and would rather work on her quilt projects. When Sansa said she would help, Sandor was insistent she join them for the movies instead. Rickon seemed content to go back to his own video games.

Sansa plunks down on the couch, exasperated. Life is scary enough to her without seeking out fear. “Arya, you know…” she starts but Arya’s shrill laughter interrupts her.

“You look so pissed,” her sister laughs, and Sansa shoots her daggers with her gaze. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you watch the Saw franchise.” The smirk on Sandor’s face as he takes his place next to her puts her in an ill state, so he knows about Arya’s game.

“What is going on?” She asks, looking at them all. Bran at least has the decency to look somewhat guilty.

“Just getting you away from Mother,” Arya tells her. “Bran and I were talking over your problem.” Sansa sighs, waiting. “Sandor said you didn’t mention anything with Petyr and the blackmail to the police.”

“No,” she says. She didn’t see the point in getting into it, plus they didn’t really ask her many probing questions.

“Was Petyr behind her the whole time? Did he come down the stairs before or after she fell?” Bran puts some questions to her.

She pinches her brow in thought. “I was at the bottom or the stairs when I heard her fall. I don’t know how long it was, I turned around so shocked at her lifeless on the floor. I didn’t register anything else until Petyr was there.”

“Wait, hold up,” Arya interrupts. “You’re down the stairs. She falls behind you, next thing Petyr is there.”

“Yeah, he felt her pulse, and,” she takes a deep breath, “she was already gone.” She can feel a slight shake, remembering that night, and turns to Sandor, “Water?”

He quickly gets up, and Arya points, “In the fridge,” to him. He comes back, opening some mineral water for her.

“Bran?” Arya looks at him, and he nods to her. “Yeah, San, he may have pushed her.”

“What?” Sansa says in shock, looking to Sandor.

He purses his lips, giving her a small nod that he agrees. “Sansa, he has motive. He wanted to be with you. Lysa was mad, she tried to kill you over him. She fell, but it may not have been an accident. Just looks like one.”

“Okay,” she tries to wrap her head around it. “It’s different when you’re the one who was actually there,” she says them.

“The thing is,” Bran starts to explain, “whether he did it or not, it’s a possibility. You are the only witness. He’s trying to blackmail you. What if you say you’ll tell the police he pushed her down those stairs? It will throw doubt and possibly open up an investigation. Not something a potential candidate wants.” Her mouth parts as she realizes what this means.

Sandor says next to her, “That’s the ticket.”

“I don’t know if it’ll work,” she says, unsure.

“Try it. If he doesn’t go for it, I’ll kill him,” Sandor shrugs.

“Get in line,” Arya says to him.

“Guys, no one is killing anyone,” Sansa says, upset.

“This no-kill policy is bumming me out,” Arya huffs, and Bran laughs.

“Why can’t the video be gone?” She looks at the three of them.

“It’s nearly impossible to remove something from the internet,” Bran starts to explain to her, but she’s tired of logic. “Individual users may have downloaded their own copy, like we’re assuming Uncle Petyr has done, and then can upload the video again. However, Arya and I have contacted major outlets identifying the video as not having your consent for distribution.”

“Major outlets?” She asks with an edge to her voice.

Arya sighs, glaring at Bran, “Porn sites, Sansa. There are revenge porn laws here at least, though there are always other sites we don’t know of or show it anyways.”

“Seven hells,” Sandor curses, pulling her against him. His arm around her makes her feel better even if it doesn’t solve this problem.

“You got Bran involved in this?” Sansa accuses, extremely upset that Arya would expose Bran to these things.

“It’s not like I fucking introduced Bran to porn, okay?” Arya pushes back while Bran turns red and looks away from them. “He hasn’t seen the video, doesn’t know what it’s of, just that you need it gone.”

“Well, obviously Bran isn’t an idiot,” Sansa snaps back at her sister.

“Shut it, you two,” Sandor says in a deep, grating tone at both of them.

“I thought you all were watching horror movies.” Sansa’s eyes go wide at her mother’s melodious voice. The four of them look to the door to see Catelyn entering with a tray of brownies and popcorn. No one says a word as she comes in and sets the tray on the low table.

Catelyn stands with her hands on her hips in front of them, “So what is this about?”

“Nothing, Mother,” Sansa tries to brush away her concern with a smile for good measure.

Her mother looks to Arya, obviously not believing her. Arya scratches the side of her head, contorting her mouth strangely in avoidance of showing anything. Her mother takes on a sterner tone, but the desperation of her plea is all too apparent, “You girls would never be up here talking over whatever it is you are before last year when you went to King’s Landing, Arya, and came back with your sister. I want to know why. I’m your mother, Sansa and Arya, you can talk to me.”

Sandor speaks up, looking at her, “Tell her, little bird.”

She puts her head in her hands, the tears already threatening, but she quickly reins that in. She’s been a mess enough. “I don’t know where to start,” is all she says. Her mother moves to sit next to her, but Sansa gets up, saying, “I don’t want you to know.” The sorrow and defeat on her mother’s face hurts her, but it would be worse if she knew the truth. She heads out the door, but Sandor is on her heels and grabs her arm, stopping her.

“What?” She says with more bite than she feels.

“I won’t tell you what to do, but your mother’s in there, begging to help you, and you walk away from her,” he says, his voice harsh but his concern clear.

“You don’t understand,” she pushes against his hold on her.

“Sansa, what do you think she’ll do?” He asks with a scoff.

“Let go of me,” she says, struggling.

“Answer me,” he demands.

She starts to cry in earnest then, “I don’t know,” she mumbles. “If I tell her, then she’ll want my father to know.” They already treat her like she’s fragile now, imagine what it will be like when they actually know, if they even believe her.

Her mother has come out in the hall now, and she approaches slowly, “Sansa,” she rests her hand on her shoulder. “Whatever it is, honey, I’m on your side. I will love you no matter what.”

She wipes some of the tears off her face roughly, angry at them, “Fine,” she says, relenting.

Sandor and her mother help her back into the room. “Bran, your room, please,” Catelyn tells Bran who frowns but does as he’s asked. “Do you want Arya and Sandor here?”

“That’s fine,” she says, not caring anymore.

Sitting back down, her mother takes her hand in hers, and Sandor is rubbing her back. She looks to Arya who’s watching and gives Sansa a small smile of encouragement.

“We’re talking about a video, Mom. It changed my life. I didn’t know that when I blacked out at Joffrey’s party, evidently he was…taking advantage of me,” she can’t say the other word, the true word, “and his friends, until I was shown the video. I just want it to go away.”

“Oh, Sansa,” her mother’s grip tightens on her hand. “I’m so sorry.” Her mother moves her right hand to catch her tears. Arya gets up, coming back with tissues, which both of them eagerly take.

“Do you remember any of it? You said it’s in a video?” Her mother asks, trying to get a grip on it.

“Some came back to me recently, but yeah, I didn’t know I had lost my virginity until I saw the video. I hate him,” she shakes her head.

“Oh, honey,” her mother pulls her into a hug. The she asks, “When did you find out?”

“Before winter break, when I broke up with him the first time,” she says.

“And we encouraged you getting back with him!” Her mother wails, looking to Arya with disbelief.

“She didn’t tell me until second semester when I went down there. It was because…” Arya doesn’t finish the line, and Sansa tenses up. Damn, Arya.

“What?” Catelyn asks, looking from one daughter to the other.

She doesn’t want to say this in front of Sandor, but he wanted this. “Mother, it took me awhile to come to grips with what happened. I don’t think I’d even faced what really happened when I first met Sandor. I was in denial, still kind of am,” she gets choked up, and Sandor’s hand is back on her back, reassuring her. “Joffrey had labeled me a whore, and the video was shared all over campus and I guess the internet. I kind of got targeted, and I would get called names on campus and propositioned almost everyday. I’d go on a date, just to find out it was about something else,” she doesn’t want to explain all of it. “By spring break this time last year, I couldn’t take it anymore and called Arya to see if she would come.”

“Sorry, San,” Arya says to her, sincere.

Sansa takes a deep breath, wondering if she should bring up Petyr.

Sensing it, her mother asks, “Has something happened recently?”

“First of all, you should know that Joffrey attempted to further harass me in Maidenpool, even sending two men to humiliate me, but Sandor got there in time before they could finish it. He then made sure Joffrey stopped. Sandor has helped me a lot in other ways, too.” She turns to him.

“Should’ve got there sooner,” he says with a slight frown, pushing her hair back from her face, gently.

She looks down at her lap to admit the next part, “Petyr has decided to blackmail me, using the video, saying he will release it to tabloids as a sex tape.”

“What? Why?” Her mother says in shock.

“He wants me to be with him romantically. I refused him, so he said he’d release the video unless I agreed,” Sansa pulls off that band-aid. “That happened the day Lysa died.”

“Oh my, dear,” Her mother says, aghast.

“I think we have a tentative plan,” Sansa says.

“Oh, I’m calling him, the weasel,” her mother says.

“No,” Sansa says, “I don’t want you going off and doing your own thing with this information. It happened to me, ask me what I want done.”

“She’s pretty adamant about that,” Sandor says with a huff.

Her mother seems perturbed but nods readily enough. She looks intently into her eyes next to say, “Sansa, I love you. This changes nothing between us, except making us stronger.” It’s as though she’s willing her to be resilient. “We will work through this. Thank you for telling me.”

Sansa nods with a sniffle, leaning over against her mother’s shoulder. She feels strangely better, drained but lightened at the same time.

“I would like to tell your father,” Catelyn broaches.

She takes a deep, steadying breath before saying, “Okay,” in a small voice. She doesn’t want to continue making her mother keep secrets from her father on her account.

“He’ll be upset at what happened to you, but he’ll still love you just as much. You’ll always be his sweet, little girl,” her mother tells her.

“King Robert,” she brings up, concerned.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” her mother tells her, “If that becomes a problem, we’ll help you however you need.” She pats her on her thigh. She can tell her mother has absorbed what has happened and has moved on to mission mode, which makes her uneasy. She doesn’t want to be her mother’s mission.

“Want to go to bed early, little bird? I can take you to your room.” Sandor tells her in his soothing, deep voice. She nods to him, and they all get up. Her mother and Arya hug her in turns, and then Sandor walks with her back to her room with his arm around her.

At the door, she starts, “Can you...?” not sure what she needs.

“I know,” he says, following her in. She changes into her pajamas quickly and then Sandor climbs under the covers with her. He holds her there, his hand combing through her hair down her back and his strong presence next to her. It soothes her completely, down to her soul, hurting from voicing the nightmares she lives with.

 


End file.
